


A Year Better Spent

by thepedrazarcollective



Category: Nothing Much to Do
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-16
Updated: 2015-10-11
Packaged: 2018-03-29 18:46:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 20
Words: 56,503
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3906787
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thepedrazarcollective/pseuds/thepedrazarcollective
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pedro hasn’t returned to Auckland since his high school days. He moves back to take a position teaching English at Messina High, and for the first time in his life he’s having difficulty making friends. The only person he knows in the city is his brother John, who isn’t returning his calls.</p>
<p>Balthazar’s year as music teacher at Messina is off to a pretty crap start. He just broke up with his boyfriend and was left with an empty flat. His best friend and former colleague, Ursula, deserted him for a fancy production job with Peter Jackson, and the guy they got to replace her is decidedly <i>not Ursula</i>.</p>
<p>Pedro wonders if anyone besides the quirky head of English, Benedick, will ever want to talk to him. Balthazar isn’t sure if he’s willing to give Ursula’s replacement a chance. When the opportunity arises for them to co-direct a musical, will they find a way to make it work for the sake of the students?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Brick Cellar

“Ursula! Put the camera down!” chided Beatrice as she plucked the camera from Ursula’s hands. “It’s your own party.”

“Yes. My own _going away_ party,” replied Ursula, attempting to get her camera back. “Which is why I wanted to document it. Careful!” she added as Beatrice held it away from her with one hand.

Beatrice brought the camera back to her chest but she didn’t return it to Ursula. “Then I will now take on the task of documenting your party.”

Ursula looked from Bea’s face to the camera and back again. “Just be careful.”

She hated relinquishing hold of her camera, but Ursula did admit it gave her more time to actually talk to people. Every single person she worked with at Messina High School had turned up. As she mingled, she spoke to as many of them as she could. Her friend Ben, who was also the head of English at Messina, made her swear to keep in touch. Jordan and Marcie asked what her instagram handle was, even though she insisted she probably wouldn’t be able to post anything interesting. Jack gave her a monster of a bear hug. She would miss all of them, but there was no way she was going to turn down a chance to work with Peter Jackson. All of her freelance indie film work was finally paying off.

After deciding she needed a bit of a break from the party, Ursula found herself on a couch beside Balthazar, the Music department head who had become one of her best friends while working at Messina. “Hey,” she said, smiling at him. “Where did Tony disappear off to?”

“He had to take a call,” replied Balthazar. He looked a little down.

“You alright?” asked Ursula.

Balthazar met her eyes and tried to smile. “Hmm? Yeah. Great.”

“Balthazar.”

He gave a little shrug. “I’ll just miss you, is all. Messina won’t be the same without you.”

Ursula smiled and hugged him. “Aw, I’ll miss you too!” She pulled back to look him in the eye. “We’ll still skype all the time.”

Balthazar smiled back at her. “Yeah. That’ll be good. You’ll have to tell me about all of your adventures.”

“And you will have to tell me all about the guy they got to replace me.”

“No one could ever replace you, Ursula.”

Ursula pulled him into another hug. “You’re too sweet, Balthy.”

 

* * *

 

“FUCK!” yelled Pedro, hopping up and down on one foot a few times. That was the third time today he had stubbed that toe on that box. A less stubborn person would have just moved the box by now, or at least put on shoes.

He leaned his back against the nearest wall and slid down to the ground. He was surrounded by boxes. Pedro had always hated moving and his experience today only made him hate it more. Between the heat and the stairs, the whole experience had been a bigger pain than he could have possibly imagined. Even though he only took about half their things, there had still been a lot to move. He’d tried calling John to see if his brother could help but the calls just went to voicemail.

If Olivia were here maybe it would be easier; at the very least Pedro would feel less alone. But unfortunately, his girlfriend was back in Wellington until her project was done, which would be another few months at least. They had both decided they wanted to be in Auckland though, Olivia because there were more opportunities for her and Pedro because he wanted to be closer to his family. It helped that Pedro could teach English anywhere.

Pedro ran a hand through his hair and pulled out his phone.

 **Pedro** : I miss you.

It only took about a minute for Olivia to text back.

 **Olivia:** I miss you too. How was moving in?  
**Pedro** : Bad  
**Olivia** : :( Maybe take a break? I know you were looking forward to going to Timber’s Pub again.  
**Pedro** : I’ll think about it. I love you  
**Olivia** : Love you too <3

Pedro looked around at the boxes but didn’t get up from the floor. He really needed to do more unpacking. He knew he’d regret it if he didn’t. Olivia had a point though. Maybe a break would be good for him.

Before he could talk himself out of it, Pedro pushed himself up off the floor and headed into the bedroom. None of his clothes had been unpacked, so he had to do a bit of digging before he found a suitable button-up shirt and tie. It was probably a bit formal for a pub, but he knew a shower and some nice clothes would help him feel human again after the long, sweaty day.

Pedro showered and changed. He stared into the bathroom mirror at his rumpled tie. It’s not that he didn’t know how to tie a tie, it was just Olivia had been doing it for so long it was no longer second nature. Still, he didn’t want to go out without it, so he embraced the crookedness and headed out the door. Pedro debated taking his car, but the pub was within walking distance and now that the sun had gone down the temperature was manageable, so he just walked.

To Pedro’s disappointment, it appeared the pub had changed ownership. What used to be a sports pub had transformed into something more… hipster. The name had changed too: The Brick Cellar. Apparently he couldn’t have even one familiar thing today.

He debated for a moment whether he should just turn around and leave, but he wasn't keen on the idea of returning to the flat before he'd at least had a cold beer so he stepped into the pub. A chalkboard sign to his right as he entered stated that there was an open mic that night, something Timber’s never would have done. Hopefully some of the performers would be good. Pedro didn’t hold out too much hope as the current guy was performing dramatically depressing spoken word (not really Pedro’s thing), but he could dream.

There were several open places at the bar, so Pedro took a seat and asked for a beer. The bartender (“Dan” his nametag read) looked at him closely. “Never seen you around here before. Are you new?”

Pedro raised his eyebrows, a bit surprised at being called out. “Sort of. I went to Aragon for high school but I haven’t been back since. Last time I was here this was Timber’s.”

The bartender smiled and nodded. “Been away a while then! This hasn’t been Timber’s in a long time. But hey, welcome back! You came on a good night. We have a lot of good performers in line for the open mic.” Pedro glanced skeptically at the guy on the stage and Dan chuckled. “Yeah, Hamlet can get a bit dramatic but the rest of them are good.”

Hamlet left the stage and a short skinny man with glasses lept up to the mic to announce the next performer. Dan was right. The next few people who performed were pretty good. The first was a girl doing more spoken word, though hers was a little more hopeful. She spoke about taking chances and new beginnings, which felt apropos. The next performer was tall girl with short hair who sang and played the ukulele.

As the tall girl exited the little stage, Pedro turned to order a second beer. He hadn’t finished his first one, but he was drinking it so slowly it was warm. The announcer introduced the next act and enthusiastic cheering followed.

The applause piqued his interest, since none of the other performers had been cheered for.

He looked over his shoulder to see a young man stepping on stage. Pedro squinted through the dim lighting in the pub (which he figured was a part of the hipster vibe), to see that the guy had messy blond hair and wore skinny jeans, a patterned button-up shirt, and a black blazer. The guy settled down on the stool in front of the mic, a guitar in his lap.  He raised a hand slightly and nodded. “Hello.”

Dan set the new beer on the bar near Pedro. “Thanks,” Pedro said, picking it up and taking a sip.

The guy on stage began to play and almost immediately hit a sour note and stopped. “Whoops!” he said with a nervous laugh. He started over. After a few strums, Pedro thought he recognized the song. He was fairly certain it was by Mumford and Sons. And then the man began to sing.

 _It's empty in the valley of your heart_  
_The sun, it rises slowly as you walk_  
_Away from all the fears_  
_And all the faults you've left behind_

Pedro watched and listened as the guy played and sang through the rest of the song. It quickly became obvious that he was more than proficient. His fingers danced over the guitar with ease as his gaze wandered around the room. The guy's voice was amazing as well, somehow mellifluous and slightly gravelly at the same time. He lilted through the verses and soared on the choruses, his voice becoming purer, more plaintive higher in his range.

Also — Pedro wasn’t going to deny it — the guy was really cute.

The guy played three songs and had Pedro’s undivided attention the entire time. After ‘The Cave,’ he played a haunting original song he called ‘Shadow’ on the guitar and ended his set playing Bastille’s ‘Overjoyed’ on the old piano in the corner.

The song came to a close and Pedro clapped and cheered along with everyone else. He couldn't believe such a talent was stuck at an open mic. Another taller Maori man came up behind the guy at the piano and wrapped his arms around his shoulders, giving the musician a peck on the cheek. Pedro smiled a little. Perhaps he was a romantic sap, but it always made him happy to see other people happy in relationships.

“He’s good, isn’t he?”

Pedro looked over at Dan, who was also watching the exchange. “Yeah, he is. What’s his —”

Pedro’s phone sounded in his pocket. It was Olivia, who must have finally gotten out of the office. He always thought she worked too hard. Pedro excused himself from the bar and answered the phone.

“Hey, Liv.”

“Hi, Pedro! I just got off. Are you in a pub?”

“Yeah, wait a second. I’ll go outside.” Pedro made his way to the door and pushed it open. “Okay, I’m outside.”

“Does that mean you went to Timber’s then?”

“Timber’s doesn’t exist anymore. It got replaced by this place called The Brick Cellar. It’s not a sports pub anymore. They were holding an open mic.”

“Was anyone any good? Those things can be a bit hit and miss. At least they were when I went to them at Uni.”

“The last guy I heard was really good. I didn’t catch his name though.” Pedro headed off in the direction of home. “How did your day go? Did Maria get her shit done?”

 

* * *

 

Ursula had never felt this nervous and excited before in her life. Her production meeting had just come to a close for _The Silmarillion_ and she was currently following Peter Jackson and crew to the first set. There weren’t any second unit shots during the first week (she would know, she put together call sheets a month ago ago) so instead she was working as a second assistant director.

There were so many people involved in this film and it was almost overwhelming at first. All of the films she had worked on before had crews half the size. However, if there was anything Ursula prided herself in, it was her ability to thrive in stressful situations.

They entered the soundstage and Ursula looked around in awe. How many times had she seen this set in the films, in the DVD extras? It was impossible to count. But it was one thing seeing it on screen (even the IMAX screen when she’d invested in tickets); it was quite another to walk the elevated paths, past slender columns that weaved together in graceful arches above her. Where green screens currently filled in the background, her mind’s eye supplied sheer cliffs and cascading waterfalls. She could almost imagine she had stepped into the pages of Tolkien’s world, into Rivendell itself, and she knew...

 _This is it,_ she thought, _this is where I’m meant to be._


	2. Grand Tour

As the small car began to ascend the infamous hill right next to Messina High, Hero Duke leaned forward in the passenger seat to adjust her knee socks.

“I hope I’m not making you late, Aunt Bea.”

“Of course not, Hero. I took care of all my last minute things yesterday. It’s the first day of your last year of high school! I wouldn’t miss it.” The woman behind the steering wheel chuckled. “Besides, if I’d left earlier I’d have missed my opportunity to taunt this joker.” She rolled down the window and allowed the car to slow to the pace of the cyclist they were approaching. “Benedick! How’s that Tour de France training coming along?”

Hero shook her head, trying to contain a smile. This ritual, begun the very day Mr. Hobbes had taken up cycling, had become her favorite part of the drive with Aunt Bea. The amusement definitely made up for the awkwardness she used to feel arriving at school alongside the headteacher.

“I’ll admit it’s a bit of a slog in this heat,” Benedick puffed, struggling to keep pace with the small hatchback. “But just think about how powerful my thighs are because of this!”

“Those chicken legs? Ha!”

“Don’t you mean flamingo legs?” He darted a self-satisfied grin in the window before returning his eyes to the road.

“Dear god, not the flamingos again. Enough! I’m not sticking around for your slog.” She rolled up the window and pressed the accelerator, leaving Benedick in the lurch.

“I can’t believe he’s actually stuck with the cycling this long,” Hero commented with an amused smile.

“Yes, well you may have noticed that he lacks some faculties in the judgment department. You’re not stuck in his class this year, are you?”

“I wouldn’t mind that, but no, I’m not. I have the new guy — I think his name is Mr. Donaldson?”

“Ah, yeah. That’ll be interesting.”

Hero frowned. “Why do you say that?”

“He’s a bit of an unknown. Excellent references, but the governors conducted the interviews, so I haven’t met him yet. And of course, nobody can replace Ursula.”

Hero considered this. “Of course I’m sad Ms. Kuang had to leave — she’s always been my favorite teacher,” she said, “but there’s no reason to assume Mr. Donaldson won’t be great, too.”

“Oh Hero,” Bea said with a fond smile, “you’re a far better person than I am.” She sighed as she turned into the school parking lot. “I just can’t help but worry — part of the job description, really.”

“Well, I’ll be sure to give you an insider’s look once I meet him.”

Bea smiled at her niece. “Knew I could count on you, Hero.”

 

* * *

 

Pedro’s first three classes of the day, two periods of Year 12 English and one period of Year 13 English, had gone relatively smoothly for the first day of school. The inevitable first day of school anxiety had mostly dissipated as he remembered almost instantly why he loved teaching so much. Bright, fresh faces, untainted by midterm stress, graced just about all of his students.

He had spent most of the classes reviewing the syllabus. His curriculum included such classics as _The Great Gatsby_ and _Doctor Faustus_ , but he’d also slipped in some of his favourites that were less frequently taught: _The Bone People_ , _Their Eyes Were Watching God_. He felt encouraged to see glimmers of interest here and there in many students’ eyes.

His prep period began quietly enough as he pulled the turkey sandwich he’d thrown together that morning out of his book bag. Before he’d taken more than two bites, however, the door to his classroom flew open and a lanky man with shockingly red trousers and a bird’s nest of dark hair appeared.

“Pedro Donaldson? I’ve been waiting all morning to find you!”

Pedro thought momentarily that he was already getting accosted by disgruntled parents, until he noticed the man’s infectious grin. “Yes, that’s me. And you are…?”

“Benedick Hobbes, head of English. Call me Ben. Come on, let’s go.” Ben had crossed the room to Pedro’s desk and was tugging on his arm.

“Oh! Should I not eat in here, or…?”

“Just bring your sandwich. We don’t have much time.”

A leaf of lettuce fell out the side of Pedro’s sandwich as he struggled out from behind his desk. “Is there a meeting I should have known about? I thought —”

“Nah, bro.” _Bro?_ Not an epithet he would have expected from a new supervisor, let alone one who had a vaguely posh British accent. “Just want to make sure you have time for the Grand Tour before your next class starts. I don’t trust anyone else with that sacred responsibility, especially not if Bea ended up showing you around. Don’t ever believe anything she says about me, by the way. Come on, let’s start at the football pitch!”

Ben dragged him around the school at such a pace that Pedro barely had time to register half of the random information thrown at him. There were historical nuggets about the school itself, ludicrous anecdotes of students and teachers who had done embarrassing things in various locations over the years, not to mention the actual people Ben introduced him to.

Pedro had to laugh to himself; when he’d seen a few weeks ago that his head of department was named Benedick Hobbes, he’d assumed it would be some crotchety old man with unruly ear hair who spouted conservative political philosophy in between naps. This young man, with his easy smile and apparently boundless energy, couldn’t have been further from what Pedro had imagined.

Despite the barrage of information, Pedro found himself enjoying Ben’s tour, all the more so because none of the other teachers Ben had introduced him to seemed at all friendly. In fact, some of them even seemed outright _un_ friendly.

Each of the encounters had begun in a similar way. Ben would barge into an empty classroom where the teacher was clearly prepping, or stop someone who was in a hurry to the toilets, and blurt out, “Hey! This is Pedro Donaldson. He’s our new English teacher, taking over for Ursula.” He would then tell Pedro the person’s name and department, and Pedro would smile and fiddle with his tie as the person put a thin veneer of politeness over their general disinterest. He hoped that their cold reception was due to Ben’s interference with their time, but he couldn’t help but worry that Ben might turn out to be his only friend among the faculty.

The bell rang, and the hall around them filled with students lugging large backpacks and laughing loudly. “We’d better get back, hadn’t we?” Pedro asked, suddenly feeling the time pressure of his next class.

“But we haven’t finished the tour! I still need to show you —”

“Mr. Perata! I saw that! Get back here.” A woman with a severe suit and an equally severe frown bellowed down the hall amid the chuckles and oohs of the students enjoying a bit of schadenfreude at their peer’s expense.

“Oh dear. It’s only day one and already Beatrice is out in full force. Best steer clear for now. You’ll meet her later,” Ben murmured, drawing closer to Pedro’s ear.

“Meg, are you okay?” the woman asked a girl with distinctive dark hair whom Pedro recognised from his third period class. She nodded at the woman, who then turned to the boy. “Mr. Perata, there is no excuse for fondling other people’s clothing without their permission. Detention for a week, starting today.”

“But I —”

“No buts! Don’t _ever_ let me see you harassing your fellow students again, or you’ll be suspended faster than you can say ‘not all men.’”

“Beatrice?” Pedro whispered. “You mean Ms. Duke, the headteacher?”

Ben nodded.

“Just because you’re freshly back from holiday doesn’t mean that I don’t expect appropriate behaviour from all of you!” she announced to the hallway full of students, most of whom cowered and wiped the smirks from their faces. She basked in the effect she’d had for a moment, before stalking down the hall toward the front office.

“Whoa… she’s full on,” Pedro breathed, briefly distracted from his haste to get back to his classroom.

“You have no idea, mate. Come on, let’s keep going. I still have to show you —“

“Hey Ben,” Pedro said, grabbing his sleeve, “I really need to get back before my next class. Why don’t we continue the tour tomorrow, yeah?”

Ben glanced at his watch. “Ha! Yeah, I guess you’re right. Wouldn’t want to stress you out too much on your first day,” he smiled. “Sure, let’s head back to the humanities block.”

Pedro breathed a little easier as they walked back toward his classroom, which was on the second floor. At the foot of the stairs, however, the sound of voices and a piano caught his attention. Several students were filing into a choir rehearsal room, joining in with the vocal warmups as they entered. A shock of spiky blonde hair stuck up from behind the top of the upright piano opposite the door, the memory of which arrested Pedro before he realized why it was familiar.

Ben was at the top step when he finally noticed that Pedro was no longer following him. “Oh yeah!” He descended the stairs and nodded in the window of the choir room. “You’ll have to meet Balthazar at some point, for sure. Too bad he wasn’t here when we came down earlier. Great dude — you’ll love him — but he does have a tendency to disappear when he doesn’t want to talk.” Catching Pedro’s questioning glance, Ben explained, “Poor guy’s just broken up with his boyfriend. Not that he’ll talk to me about it. He’s probably hiding from me, actually!”

Just then Balthazar stood up to peer over the piano as he continued playing the warmups, and Pedro finally realized what was so familiar — it was the guy from the open mic. The cute one. The one with the amazing voice. The one who had looked so happy with his boyfriend after the show. _I guess relationships are always more complicated than they appear_ , Pedro thought.

He didn’t realize he was staring until his phone chimed from his pocket, which broke his reverie. He caught a glimpse of Ben’s face, which was split with a gigantic grin, before glancing at his phone. A text notification was waiting for him from “Liv-YEAHHH.”

 **Olivia:** How’s your first day going? Miss you!

“Who’s that?” Ben asked.

“Oh, it’s my girlfriend. I’ll text her back later,” Pedro replied, peeking into the choir room once more before heading up the stairs.

“Your girlfriend?” Ben frowned. “Oh. Okay.”

 

* * *

 

 “Socks! Hey, Socks!”

Hero smiled to herself before turning to face the familiar voice. “Hi, Claudio. How was your summer holiday?” She hugged her notebook to her chest.

“Yeah, great,” he smiled, blushing. “And, uh, yours? I mean, how was it?”

“Good, yeah…” she nodded, trailing off. The silence that followed very nearly turned awkward, but for the interruption of a bubbly voice approaching Hero’s side.

“Hero! Wait up!” Hero gave Claudio a quietly amused smile as Meg screeched to a halt beside her. “So what’d you guys think of the new English teacher? Kind of a hipster, huh? What kind of teacher gets that haircut, am I right? What do you think, Claudio?”

“I actually have to… um…” he stammered, looking back to Hero. “But um, I’ll see you later, Socks, yeah?”

As he retreated down the crowded hallway, Meg squealed. “He is totes into you, babe. Why haven’t you hit that yet?”

“Oh my god,” she laughed. “I don’t want to ‘hit’ anything! And besides, he was away for most of the holiday.”

“Ah yeah, I see,” Meg said with a wink. “But he’s still calling you Socks even if you haven’t seen him since last year.”

Hero blushed. “Yeah, I was kinda surprised by that…”

“Not surprised enough not to wear those socks on the first day, though, yeah?”

Hero didn’t deny it.


	3. Changing the Subject

Meg grinned at Hero's blushing face. She was too easy to tease. "But seriously, love," she said as the pair of them began walking home together, "you've got to get on that train, because I don't think Claudio’s gonna get it rolling on his own."

Hero made a face. "Yeah, he can't really speak... many words… to me," she admitted. "But I don't really know what to say either."

"You're hopeless. Both of you. Hopeless." Meg rolled her eyes dramatically.

"Oh I wanted to ask you! How did you like choir with Mr. Jones? You had him today, right?"

"You're changing the subject," Meg scolded.

"Yes. Yes I am. What did you think?"

Meg scrunched her nose. "I dunno... It wasn't as exciting as everyone made it out to be. I know everyone loves Mr. Jones, but... I dunno he was weird, like he didn't really see us there."

Hero sighed and leaned in. "I don't think he's really himself," she said in a low voice. "You know he was always really close with Ms. Kuang. It’s got to be really weird for him now she’s gone. And I heard Aunt Bea saying on the phone the other day that he’d just broken up with his boyfriend."

"Wow, I had no idea..."

"Give it some time," Hero said. "He really is great, I promise."

They reached the corner where they had to part ways. Meg waved Hero along with a cheery smile and a promise to talk tomorrow, then turned in the direction of her own house.

It was easy to be happy while laughing and gossiping and catching up with her friends at school, but now that she was alone, she began to feel the heaviness of a weight in her stomach she'd managed to ignore all day.

Her parents had given her an ultimatum: if her marks didn't improve this term, she would have to move to live with her grandmum in Wellington and attend St. Miranda's College. Meg knew that Ms. Duke, Hero's aunt had gone there... and had horror stories about the place. They wore _uniforms_ there. Meg gave an involuntary shudder at the thought.

That was why Meg was taking choir this term. It wasn’t because she’d suddenly developed an interest in singing with all those choir nerds. She’d heard from her friends that it was a fun class where you were pretty much guaranteed a good mark just for showing up every day.

None of her friends knew about her parents’ ultimatum, and Meg hated to think of the sad, sympathetic looks she’d get if they found out. But whatever. They wouldn’t need to know. She could handle this.

Meg rounded the corner and her house came into view. She knew that the first thing her parents would do would be to ask about homework… as if any of her teachers would assign any on the first day.

She had a gut instinct to avoid going home. She could text Robbie and go make out with him instead — but no. This term, she was going to face her problems. This term, she was going to do better. She _had_ to.

Meg reached the door, steeled herself, and went inside.

 

* * *

 

The flat felt so strange.

It was too big, for one thing. It had always been too big. Tony was the one who wanted more space. Balthazar just had his habitual spots — the piano, the desk in his studio, his little corner of the couch… but now, with Tony gone, most of the space felt purposeless and empty. Like there should be a use for it, but there wasn’t.

Balthazar sighed and walked across several pointless feet of space to sit in his corner of the couch. He set his bag down beside him and saw the corner of a stack of papers sticking out with a post-it note affixed saying “TURN IN TO OFFICE ASAP.” Today’s attendance sheets. Needless to say, he’d forgotten to turn them in to the office.

He was really out of it.

The new school year had begun, and Balthazar had hoped that being back in the busier school schedule would distract him from the crappy turn his personal life had taken. But school didn’t feel like the same place without Ursula there. They’d been in it together since their first year, right out of university. He missed the lunches together, joint sessions for grading and curriculum planning, and just knowing that she was there, up a flight of stairs and down the hall, if he ever needed someone.

But she wasn’t there anymore, and Tony wasn’t here, and even teaching hadn’t felt right today… on the first day, too. Balthazar usually _loved_ the first day. Today, though, everything went wrong, and even when things weren’t going wrong, he still felt weirdly out of place. It was making him start to wonder if working with a close friend like Ursula really was the only reason he always liked his job...

Balthazar couldn’t say exactly how long he’d sat stewing over all this when his phone buzzed with a text notification. Frowning, he fished it out of his pocket.

 **Ursula** : Hey, are we still skyping tonight?

He stared at his phone. He’d forgotten. How had he forgotten? They’d planned this ages ago. He got up and hurried into his studio, hitting the power button on the computer before he even sat down. He took his seat as the computer whirred to life, and he tapped his fingers on the table as the screen lit up and told him to _please wait_. It seemed to take forever for his desktop to show up, for skype to load, but finally it did. He saw that Ursula was online, so he started the call.

Ursula's face showed up on the screen, brow already furrowed in preemptive concern, her greeting of “Hey, how are you?” laden with sympathy. Balthazar felt a sinking suspicion that this conversation would dwell on topics that he didn’t really want to face.

He made sort of a noncommittal noise.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“No,” he said. Ursula frowned, and seemed ready to press him on this, which Balthazar wanted to avoid. “How are things on The Silmarillion?” he asked by way of a diversion.

It worked. Ursula's face broke into a rapturous grin. “It's _so amazing_ ,” she gushed. “We went up in a helicopter today to get aerial shots of the mountains.” She paused and looked to the side. “I'm allowed to say that, right? I mean it's not exactly _surprising_ that there would be aerial shots of the mountains.”

“Well if not, your secret's safe with me.”

Ursula narrowed her eyes. “I'm not so sure about that. I may need to kill you now.”

Balthazar shrugged. “Might make things easier…” He realized after the words came out of his mouth that it didn't really sound like he was joking. And the alarmed look on Ursula's face wasn't helping matters. “Shit, I didn’t mean — it was a joke!”

“ _Don’t_ joke about that,” she said sternly.

“You joked about killing me…”

“Fair point. From now on, no more jokes about death.”

“Agreed. And don’t worry about me. I’m fine.” Balthazar smiled at the camera in an effort to prove how fine he was.

“I don’t believe you,” Ursula said, blunt as ever. “Are you sure you don't want to talk about it?”

Balthazar wasn't sure he knew _how_ to talk about it. “I dunno… You're the one who's got the interesting life right now.”

“About ninety percent of which I'm not allowed to talk about,” she countered. “There's not much more I can say. It's great. I'm filming pretty things. I caught a glimpse of Cate Blanchett the other day? That's about it.”

Balthazar smirked. “Oh that's it, is it? Only the most beautiful woman in the world and your favorite actress of all time.”

“Yeah, not very exciting.” Ursula returned the smirk. Then she sobered, and Balthazar knew he couldn't escape the determined look on her face. “Now, your turn. How was your first day?”

Balthazar shrugged. “Okay, I guess?”

“How were your classes?”

“I dunno… Not great.”

“Really?” Ursula looked concerned. “You always loved the first day of school.”

“Yeah, but this one has been something else. Half the instruments are basically unplayable — I had to have a cellist playing with a violin bow — and then Hana Ahaura broke one of her tuning pegs.” He sighed. “We’re supposed to be getting money for instrument repair soon, but still... it’s pretty frustrating right now.”

“Well, what about choir?”

“I mean, nothing went _wrong_ …”

“But?”

“I don’t know…”

“Balthazar, you’re being evasive again. What’s really bothering you?”

She waited patiently while Balthazar collected his thoughts. After all these years, she knew exactly how he functioned, when to press him, when to give him space, and it struck Balthazar how much he’d been missing her presence since she left.

“I just…” he gestured helplessly, “everything feels… just off.”

Ursula nodded sympathetically, but didn’t speak. It was still Balthazar’s turn.

“I mean — you’re gone, and Tony’s gone, and I’m starting to realize I didn’t really _have_ anyone else. I mean, it’s not like — I don’t regret breaking it off with him or anything, but now it’s just — I feel so aimless. I thought maybe it would be better once school started again, but… maybe he was right...”

“And you’ve come to this conclusion after a grand total of one difficult day of school?”

“Well, I mean, I was going to have a performance career, wasn’t I? That was the plan, and I just never got round to it.”

“But you like teaching, don’t you?” she asked.

Balthazar sighed. “I don’t know — I mean, I did, but I just feel really… off right now.”

“You like teaching. I know you do. And you’re good at it. There’s nothing wrong with doing something you like that you’re good at.”

“What about my dreams, though?”

“Following your dreams is overrated.”

“Says the woman who is working on the Silmarillion…”

“Point taken, but bear in mind that my dream happens to pay well. There’s a reason why I didn’t become an indie filmmaker.”

“Which is basically the equivalent of me becoming an indie singer/songwriter, right?” Balthazar said with a self-deprecating smirk.

“Basically, yeah,” Ursula laughed. “Look, Balthazar, you don’t need to have everything figured out right now.”

“Funny, I always thought I _would_ have things figured out by now.”

“Well, you don’t, and that’s okay,” Ursula insisted.

Balthazar nodded uncertainly. He saw her point, but it didn’t really make him feel any better, and honestly, he kind of wanted this conversation to be over now. “Can we talk about something else?”

“Sure. Have you met the new English teacher?”

That wasn’t the ‘something else’ he had in mind. “No,” he said forcefully.

Ursula raised an eyebrow. “You know, it’s not his fault he’s replacing me.”

“You know he’s John Donaldson’s brother?”

“Hmmm… I wondered. The name Donaldson did ring a bell when I saw it in the newsletter.”

“Well? What do you think of that?”

“Well, John’s a talented drama teacher…”

“That’s one way of putting it.”

“Maybe this new guy would be interested in continuing the drama program? Maybe you should ask him about it.”

“Not likely.”

Ursula rolled her eyes. “Okay, fine.”

There was a moment of silence. Balthazar felt at a loss for words. Maybe it was irrational for him to dislike the new guy just because he wasn’t Ursula, but on top of everything else, he just didn’t have the energy to make friends with some new person he didn’t know.

His eyes began to wander across his desk, and they caught on something — the plastic edge of a spiral bound document, which Balthazar instantly recognized as trademark of Tony's scripts. Drafts like this used to litter the flat, sometimes in piles, covered in notes and revisions that crowded around the typed lines and stage directions...

...and _this_ script was the musical they were going to write together. This script, sandwiched in a stack of pages of manuscript paper that Balthazar had filled with ideas for songs, was the only script Tony hadn't taken with him when he moved. Balthazar remembered spending hours sitting at the piano, Tony leaning against the side as they worked through the story, playing and singing and writing down bits of lyrics and melody, weaving music through the fabric of the narrative. Honestly, this was the first time since the breakup that Balthazar remembered the good in their relationship, how well they worked as a creative team.

“Balthazar?” Ursula waved her hand across the screen. “Where did you go? You just kinda blanked out.”

“Oh, uhh…” He looked back toward the pile of unfinished work that now seemed doomed never to reach completion. “It’s just…” He thought of all of the emotions wrapped up in that pile, and he knew that if he went digging into it, he’d end up in more pain than he was willing to deal with right now. He shook his head. “It’s nothing.”

“Nothing. Okay,” Ursula deadpanned.

Balthazar frowned. He didn’t want to end this conversation feeling at odds with Ursula, especially since he didn’t know when he’d be able to speak with her again. “You’re mad at me,” he said sheepishly.

Ursula sighed. “I’m not mad, just frustrated. I know things are hard for you right now, but you’re making them harder than they need to be.”

“Okay then, what should I do?”

“Don’t close yourself off. You said Tony and I were all you had, but that’s not true, and you know it. You have your students, and you have Bea and Ben — and by the way, I talked to Ben and he told me you’re avoiding him.”

“Did he?” Balthazar said with a sarcastic edge.

“He’s worried about you. _I’m_ worried about you. More importantly, your students need you. You can’t disappear on them.”

“I’m not going to _disappear_. Bea would probably kill me.”

“There’s more than one way to disappear,” Ursula said. “I know you, Balthazar. I know how you can collapse in on yourself. You need to be there for the students. Try to remember how much you love teaching.”

Balthazar sighed heavily.

“Promise me, okay?” Ursula pressed.

Balthazar looked at the pained expression on Ursula’s face. He knew she had a point. “Okay,” he said. “I promise.”

 

* * *

 

Meg took her seat in the alto section and began to chat with the girl next to her. Her name was Kura. She was super sweet, but a little shy. Meg already knew they would be friends. About halfway down their row, a guy strummed on a guitar he’d brought with him. Kura made an admiring comment about how good he was, and Meg thought maybe a matchmaking scheme was in order…

The bell rang, and Meg looked up at Mr. Jones, who was leaning against the piano.

“Okay, everyone,” Mr. Jones said, “I know yesterday was a little boring, getting everybody sorted into their sections, but hey, it had to be done.” He shrugged. “Now uh, I’ve got our music for this term right here,” he gave the stack of music next to him on top of the piano a little pat, “and we could start on that today, but there’s no rush. We could do something else if you guys have any ideas…” He smiled and raised an eyebrow at the class.

Meg was suddenly struck with inspiration. She raised her hand.

“Yes, um…?” Mr. Jones hurried to consult the attendance list.

“Meg,” she said. “I’m Meg Winter. And I thought maybe we could do an ice-breaker.”

There was an audible groan. A girl in the soprano section spoke up. “Yeah, like we haven’t done that in _every other class_.”

“I know, I know, but hear me out, yeah?” Meg paused for dramatic effect. “We could _sing_ it.” She turned to Guitar Guy. “You, with the guitar, what’s your name?”

Guitar Guy started and gestured confusedly at himself.

“Yeah, you.”

“I’m Dennis.”

“Play something, Dennis.”

Still confused, Dennis obeyed. Meg tended to have that effect on people. She listened to the chords he was strumming and after a bit, she found a good place to jump in. “My name is Meg,” she sang, intentionally a little off-key with a bit of an awkward melody, so no one would feel like they had to come up with anything elaborate, “and my favorite color is red, and I like watching boys play football.”

She grinned expectantly at Mr. Jones, who smiled back. “I like it!” he said. “Anyone else?”

The more extraverted students volunteered first, but as things progressed, they got into sort of a groove, and everyone wanted to take their turn. Kura went up last. Her favorite color was yellow and she liked reading Jane Austen, and she had the prettiest voice.

The bell rang again and class was over.

Mr. Jones laughed. “Perfect timing!”

Meg slung her bag over her shoulder and headed for the door.

“Hey, Meg?” she heard Mr. Jones say from behind her.

She turned.

“Thanks,” he said. She got the feeling from the earnest look on his face that he was thanking her for more than just the idea for the ice-breaker.

“Any time,” she said, and she left, thinking as she made her way to her next class that she’d changed her mind about Mr. Jones. He was pretty cool.


	4. A Meeting

Benedick loved the days when he was too busy to even stop and think. When people had to walk with him down the corridor to explain something while he was checking something else for his next lesson, it made him feel like he was on The West Wing. Once when in this mood, though, he’d demanded that some documents were posted immediately and the secretary had slowly and deliberately poured them into the waste paper bin while fixing him with an impassive expression.

Today was not that day, however. Ben bounded into the staff room, enjoying that he only had two minutes to make his tea and would have to drink it on his way to the next class.

What he did not enjoy was the conversation that he overheard between Sam and Marcie, two of the Science teachers, sitting around a nearby coffee table. It was the mention of Pedro that caught his attention.

“Did you see the new English teacher? Mr. Donaldson?” Sam asked.

“Yeah…” came the unenthusiastic response.

“My thoughts exactly. Not to be harsh, but he’s really not good looking enough to be that cocky.”

Marcie’s response was a smirk and another sip of her tea.

Sam continued, unaware that Pedro’s biggest fan was within hearing range. “He tried to make conversation the other day and said that he was from around here but went to Aragon High.”

“Ugh, posh.”

“Yeah, he was really proud of himself. Said ‘naturally the superior choice’ or something. I was just thinking _god, get over yourself_.”

That was as much as Ben could listen to. He forgot about his drink and rounded on the two at the coffee table. “Excuse me. I wish I hadn’t overheard you but I did.”

The teachers looked surprised and immediately abashed.

“I have two points to make further to your despicable little conversation. Firstly, Pedro _is_ good looking enough to be that cocky. He really is. If he wanted to be, which he doesn’t. Leading to my second point, which is that he’s about as cocky and posh as… as a slow loris.” Ben was faced with blank expressions. “You know, those animals with the big, sad looking eyes.” He did a poor impersonation. “Anyway! My point is that he’s not cocky! He’s ridiculously down-to-earth. If he actually said anything about Aragon it was probably a joke.”

“Sorry,” Sam muttered. “I don’t really know him…”

“Thank you,” Ben acknowledged the apology with a slightly less indignant nod. “You need to give him a break. It’s not easy being the new kid at school.”

It may have been nearly two decades since Ben had been the awkward emigre teenager, but he could still remember the horrible sensation of suddenly having no one who really cared who he was. He really hoped there were some others aside from himself who would be willing to give Pedro a chance.

 

* * *

 

Balthazar hated staff meetings. They were long, largely irrelevant to him, and often ended up being little more than a chance for the more obstinate staff members to bicker with each other. And now he didn’t even have Ursula to exchange exasperated expressions with.

The meetings took place in the staff room, which wasn’t really large enough to accommodate the entire faculty. Balthazar always _tried_ to arrive in time to get a comfy seat by the windows, but he invariably became caught up in something or other and had to perch precariously on one of the weird stools near the kitchenette. 

This afternoon was no exception.

Balthazar picked up a copy of the fifty-page-long School Improvement Plan that Beatrice had laid out for those who hadn’t brought a laptop on which to view the PDF. He looked around the room and saw several colleagues pulling out their computers and scrolling through the document. The new guy, or ‘Not-Ursula’ as Balthazar had privately termed him, had it up on his iPad. What a knob.

Balthazar found a stool to sit on and balanced the document on his knees as Beatrice highlighted the main projects and budget allocations for the coming year. He flicked through and searched for his name. When he had reached the last page he realised that there had been a mistake.

“Um,” he raised his hand slightly to attract the headteacher’s attention, “there’s no mention of the money for instrument repairs and replacements.” Balthazar had discussed this with Beatrice before the start of term so he didn’t expect the stiff look of apology.

“I’m afraid there wasn’t the money for that in the end,” Beatrice explained.

“What?” A frown furrowed his brow. They had already agreed that the money was there. They had definitely had that conversation. He needed those instruments.

“It had to be ratified by the governors and there just wasn’t the money. We’ll have to make do with what we’ve got. Does anyone else have any questions?”

And then someone from the Science department began a monologue about a pupil deprivation project and that was it. Conversation over.

It was only after the meeting had concluded that Balthazar acknowledged to himself quite how frustrated he felt.

He was frustrated that Beatrice had gone back on her word, of course, and frustrated that she hadn’t felt the need to tell him that he would be without his necessary teaching equipment. But he was even more frustrated with himself.

As he made his way down the concrete path that led back towards the Music department, Balthazar was consumed by all of the things that he should have said half an hour ago. He should have had the presence of mind to counter the headteacher’s claim that the money wasn’t there. He knew it must be the governor's fault. It was obvious that they were doing with Music exactly as they had done with Drama. If Ursula had been there she would have said something composed and eloquent, or at least prodded him until he spoke up himself. 

But no. 

Balthazar kicked a stone into the hedgerow. A Music department with no playable instruments…

“Hey, you dropped this.”

Balthazar hadn’t noticed the figure until it was right on top of him. It was Not-Ursula. He had run a little bit, and his hair was all messed up and his tie loose — though Balthazar couldn’t recall having seen him so far without those two things being true. He was holding out a bronze plectrum.

“Mm, no, um, it’s not mine,” Balthazar said.

“Oh!” He seemed genuinely shocked, as if he assumed all Music teachers go around constantly shedding plectrums. 

Balthazar turned to continue walking.

“Hang on — wait!” Not-Ursula brushed his hair out of his eyes with one hand and held his other out towards Balthazar. “I’m Pedro Donaldson. I’m English.” He pulled a face. “I’m not English. I mean, I’m the new English teacher.”

“Balthazar.” 

Pedro took his hand and shook it solidly. Balthazar met his gaze briefly as Pedro said, “I know.”

Once Pedro had released it, Balthazar stuffed his hand into his trouser pocket. “Yeah, I know who you are too. Not to scare you but, yeah, Ben is a bit obsessed.”

Pedro gave a generous laugh. “He’s a good guy. He’s made me feel very welcome.”

“Mmhm…”

“You going back to your class?”

“Yeah.”

“Me too.”

All Balthazar wanted to do was to be alone in order to silently fume about his shrunken budget, but he had no choice but to continue on his way with Pedro in tow. 

“That staff meeting wasn’t as bad as in my old school.” Pedro pulled open the door to the Humanities building and held it. Balthazar grudgingly shuffled through.

“No?”

“No way. Ms. Duke seems like a good head.”

“Mmm…” A few hours ago he might have agreed more enthusiastically.

“Wouldn’t want to get on her bad side, though.”

“Yeah, you’d have to be very brave.”

“Or very foolish.” 

“Yeah.” Balthazar wondered if they were both thinking about Ben.

This was the second year Beatrice had been in charge at Messina High. As soon as she had arrived, there had been a collective sense that things were going to be different. There were some who had relished the improved efficiency and noticed the impact of even-handed discipline, but of course no one really likes change.

Balthazar tended to just keep his head down and get on with his own things. How ridiculous that the first time he had made a particular request it had been such a complete failure. How ridiculous that he’d done nothing to fight it.

“Have you been here long?” Pedro asked.

Balthazar blinked, returning his thoughts to the present. “A few years.”

“You got any survival tips?” He was certainly putting in a valiant effort to make conversation despite Balthazar’s undisguised reticence. 

“Um, nah… Don’t eat the chilli chips.”

“Ah, good to know.”

Balthazar was saved from further inanity by the welcome oasis of his Music room door. But it seemed Pedro wasn’t going to let him go that easily.

“I saw you!” Pedro blurted when they came to a halt. “At Timber’s Pub before term started. No, what’s it called now? The Brick Cellar.” And when Balthazar didn’t respond he added, “That was you, right?”

“Uh, yeah.” The last time he’d played there had been the night he and Tony had got into the fight. Excellent. Just what Balthazar wanted to think about right now. Nothing like the memory of a recent breakup to lighten the spirits. He grimaced at the floor.

“You were amazing! I really love your music.”

“Thanks.”

“Do you have an album or something?”

“Nah, not really.”

Balthazar glanced up and found himself the sole focus of Pedro’s disarming smile and eyes gleaming with enthusiasm. His chest tightened uncomfortably.

“You should record stuff! Seriously, you were fantastic.”

“I…” Balthazar was not in the mood for this. He really didn’t want to be here explaining to Not-Ursula all his doubts and insecurities about his music career. “I’m a teacher,” he stated, and opened the door to his room. “I focus on that.”

“Ah, yeah, I get it. It’s the same with my football now. It’s just for fun.”

“Yeah, well, good to meet you.” He began to turn away.

“You too!” Pedro said, with feeling. “Hey, when are you playing next?”

“Oh, next Saturday.”

“At The Brick Cellar?”

“Yeah.”

“Cool! My girlfriend should be around then. She’d love you too.”

Fantastic. 

Balthazar practically closed the door in Not-Ursula’s face. With a sigh, he unbuttoned the top of his shirt and grabbed his cardigan off the back of his chair. For the first time in days, he just wanted to go home. His troubled eye glanced over the various instrument cases waiting to be repaired amongst the largely-disfigured music stands. 

He couldn’t help reflecting bitterly that this mismatched and deteriorating collection was all he had to show for the wonderful teaching career for which he had sacrificed pretty much everything else. It all felt so pointless when his own headteacher didn’t even care about his department. 

Balthazar sighed again and leaned wearily back against the piano. “I sure am living the dream...”

 

* * *

 

Ben managed to grab Beatrice on the way out of school. “I’m concerned about Pedro Donaldson,” he said, once he’d checked that no one else was in hearing range. 

Beatrice groaned and continued walking. “What’s wrong with him? I knew this was going to happen. Is it his planning? Is he going off syllabus? Is he late? Are the kids bullying him? The hair?”

“No, no! There’s nothing wrong with him.”

“You just said there was.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“What on earth are we talking about then, Hobbes?”

“I’m concerned that he’s not fitting in! Everyone seems obsessed with how he’s not like Ursula and how he went to a posh school and how his brother is that Aragon teacher who’s up his own arse...”

“Well, all of those things are true.” Beatrice took a sharp right towards the carpark and almost managed to shake Ben from her trail. He was dogged, though.

“But he’s a great teacher! And an all-round great guy.”

“Good for you. You’ve found your newest, bestest friend then? I’m happy for you, Benedick.”

“I just want everyone to give him a chance.”

“And what do you want me to do about it?” Beatrice demanded as they stopped next to her car. “Organise some kind of welcoming team-building ‘let’s all say something nice about Pedro’ event?” Then her expression softened just the slightest amount. “Now do you want a lift home? That ludicrous contraption could fit in the boot,” she said in reference to the bike that was locked up a few yards away.

“I’m not going to give you the satisfaction.”

Beatrice turned away. “Fine. I hope you get knocked down and learn your lesson.”

“I bet I know who would be in the driver’s seat too!” 

Ben crouched down to unlock his bike chain and a smile crept onto his face as he heard the headteacher start her car and pull away.

 


	5. The Case of the New Teacher

It didn’t take Verges very long to discover that trying out a new name at a new school doesn’t work very well when you’ve known most of the people in your class since primary school.

Some people got really confused when she requested they call her Verges. Some people completely ignored her request and just continued to call her Georgia. Some people got angry and asked why she wanted to change her name anyway. A lot of people teased her. But nobody, absolutely nobody, actually called her Verges.

It was lunch time on Thursday of the second week of school. Verges didn’t even bother to find people to sit with in the cafeteria, or the tables outside (which were usually taken by Year 12s and 13s anyway). She just found a nice looking patch of grass, settled down, and took out her lunch: a turkey sandwich, an orange, yogurt, and a juice box.

She wasn’t expecting anyone to pass by her deserted little corner, but it actually didn’t take long before a gangly, dark-haired boy wearing a scarf that seemed too warm for late summer wandered by, wielding a camera that he pointed in every direction as he muttered to himself.

“Are you looking for something?” Verges asked.

The boy whipped around to face Verges, pointing the camera in her face. “Have you noticed any… _mysterious happenings_ in your vincentity?”

Verges paused to think. “What sort of mysterious happenings?” she asked.

“Anything!” he said, gesticulating wildly. “I am a detective, I solve mysteries… and the first mystery is… what mystery should I solve first? I’m Dogberry, by the way.” He thrust out his hand for Verges to shake.

“They call me Verges,” she said, shaking his proffered hand. “Well, they don’t _really_ ,” she qualified, thinking back on the past week.

“I’ll call you Verges,” he said without so much as a moment of hesitation.

“ _Really?_ ” Verges’s heart swelled. This was the first time anyone besides herself had actually used that name.

“Of course,” he said.

Verges couldn’t help but grin. She needed to thank him somehow. “I — I could help you find a mystery to solve if you’d like,” she offered. “Only, I need to finish my lunch first. Mum says I need to finish all of it or it becomes the food of Satan.”

Dogberry smiled. “I would appropriate your help very much, Verges. Thank you.”

He took a seat on the grass next to her and set his camera aside.

"Orange?" Verges offered, holding out a segment of her orange.

"Please," Dogberry said, accepting it.

 

* * *

 

Pedro eyed the leftover Chinese takeout on his desk. He’d ordered this food last night while in his flat, alone; after he picked it up, he ate it in his flat, alone… and now he was eating the rest of it in his classroom, alone.

He half-heartedly fished a piece of baby corn out of the carton with his chopsticks, then sighed and dropped it. This was getting ridiculous. He had a total of _one friend_ here at Messina, and was reduced to eating lunch alone if that _one friend_ ever happened to be unavailable. Thankfully, Ben never had any inclination to eat with anyone else — he was in a meeting today — but Pedro was starting to feel like a burden nonetheless.

This was all wrong — this was not how Pedro _functioned_. He belonged right in the middle of the social scene, chatting with colleagues in the teacher’s lounge, organizing parties and outings to the pub, always up to date on the latest gossip.

Instead, it seemed he _was_ the latest gossip. Not even that. He was old news.

He poked at his lunch some more as the voices of a couple of passing students drifted through the half-open door.

“Okay, Hero, I admit it,” came a voice he recognized as belonging to Meg Winter, one of his Year 13s. “Choir is a lot of fun and Mr. Jones is awesome, and I take back any reservations I ever had about him. Satisfied?”

“Yes,” Hero said with a smile in her voice. “I knew you’d come around; it’s impossible not to love Mr. Jones.”

Pedro jabbed at his lunch hard enough to skewer a bit of pork. He’d lost count of the number of times he’d been snubbed in the past few weeks by various staff members, but somehow, being snubbed by this Balthazar guy had stung the most. From everything he’d heard and overheard, it seemed Balthazar was universally thought of as a really great guy. Pedro had yet to hear a single word against him, and he knew first-hand how talented the guy was. In short, Balthazar Jones seemed like just the kind of person Pedro would get along famously with.

And he’d _tried_ taking the first steps toward friendship, but Balthazar seemed completely unwilling to meet him halfway. He’d nearly slammed the door in Pedro’s face when he’d tried to strike up a conversation after that budget meeting the other day, and he only stared determinedly at the ground or out the nearest window whenever Pedro smiled or nodded at him in the hallways.

Of course, nobody was _obligated_ to be Pedro’s friend. People were allowed to like him or dislike him as they pleased. But he was used to people opting to like him more often than not. He’d always been seen as a likable guy… what changed?

Well, according to Ben, people thought he was posh, which was laughable, really (he’d laughed when Ben told him). He spent his free time streaming _Flight of the Conchords_ on his laptop. He didn’t own a single formal suit. For god’s sake, he was using an unpacked moving box as a dining room chair in his flat.

“I’m _not_ posh,” he declared to his lunch.

“That’s the spirit!”

Pedro nearly spilled his food. “ _Jesus!_ ” he swore, as he turned to see Ben’s grinning face peeking through the door.

“No, unfortunately, I’m _not_ the incarnation of God come to earth,” he said in an exaggerated tone of mock-regret, then his irrepressible grin reappeared. “Wouldn’t that be fun, though?”

“No, it wouldn’t. You’d die.”

Ben pouted. “Spoilsport.” He stepped into the classroom and leaned against Pedro’s desk. “Speaking of sport, I had a moment between meetings — you know how busy I am — and I just wanted stop by and invite you to come play some football on Saturday.”

“With who?” Pedro asked, somewhat skeptical.

“Don’t you mean with _whom?_ ”

Pedro rolled his eyes. “Don’t be a prescriptivist. We both know that both are acceptable.”

“Just trying to live up to the pedantic fuddy-duddy you were expecting me to be.”

“I will _never_ live that down.”

“ _Never,_ ” Ben declared. “And don’t worry, there really isn’t anyone else from Messina who likes going. Except Bea sometimes, but she’s pretty busy with other things, as I understand.”

Pedro took a moment to imagine Beatrice playing football. He had to say he felt sorry for anyone unlucky enough to come between her and the goal.

“No,” Ben continued, “it’s just a bunch of teachers from… all over, really, who like to get together and kick a ball around.”

“Yeah, that sounds great!” Pedro said. “I just have to check with Olivia — my girlfriend — she’s in town this weekend.”

Ben raised an eyebrow. “So I may get to meet this elusive girlfriend of yours I’ve heard so much about?”

“Yeah, maybe,” Pedro hedged. He didn’t want to make promises before he’d talked to her. “Anyway, I’ll let you know. When is it?”

“Two o’clock, over at the Aragon High football pitch. Your old stomping ground, eh?” Ben winked. “Hey, listen, I’ve gotta run. I’m probably already late to a meeting with Bea.”

“Yeah, you don’t want to keep her waiting,” Pedro said with a laugh. “See you round!”

“See ya!”

Pedro returned to his lunch, his mood considerably brightened by a friendly conversation and the prospect of a social event on the weekend. Realizing how hungry he really was, he polished off the rest of his meal pretty quickly, then saw that he had about fifteen minutes to spare. He decided to call John. If this football thing was for area teachers, maybe it could be something fun for them to do together. The phone rang twice, then went to voicemail. Pedro sighed and hung up. Maybe he could catch John in the evening...

In the mean time, he could try to get a hold of Olivia. She should be on her lunch break now, right? He scrolled down a bit to her name in his contacts and hit the call button.

“Hey hon,” Olivia greeted on the other end.

“Hey, I’m glad I caught you,” Pedro said. “Did you have any particular plans for Saturday?”

“Nah, you know Auckland better than I do. Anything less stressful than writing proposals is fine by me. Why — what did you have in mind?”

“Ben just invited me to play football with him and some other teachers from the area. Thought I might dust off the ol’ Captain’s jersey from my high school days…”

Olivia laughed. “Maybe you should stick with your Wellington league jersey. If you can still fit into your high school one, I’d be impressed!”

“What, you don’t think I can?”

“I’d like to see it!”

“Oh, would you?” Pedro used his most suggestive tone of voice.

Olivia burst into a giggle-fit. “Stop it, you — all my co-workers already think I’m a weirdo.” She took a deep breath, composing herself. “But yeah, if you want to play football with your mates, I’m happy to cheer you on from the sidelines...”

 

* * *

 

“Great! I’m glad that’s all sorted.”

Verges and Dogberry peered around the doorframe into the nearly empty classroom where a teacher was talking on his phone. They quickly moved away from the door before the teacher caught sight of them.

“Who is that?” Verges whispered.

“That’s Mr. Donaldson, he’s a new processor — er, I mean — teacher-ly… fellow.”

“Maybe he could be our mystery,” Verges offered. “New people are mysterious.”

“That’s very true, Verges… very true…” Dogberry lifted his camera to eye level and adjusted the settings on the viewfinder.

“Yeah, it’ll be at the Aragon football pitch,” Mr. Donaldson’s voice cut in. “Haha! Yeah, that’s exactly what Ben said.”

Verges and Dogberry leaned forward, listening intently.

“Saturday at two, so we can still sleep in a bit. Oh! I wanted to mention — do you have any room to bring a few dining room chairs with you?”

Dogberry’s eyebrows shot up. “Dining room chairs?” he mouthed.

“Yeah… yeah, honestly even if you can’t fit much else, I’d really appreciate having at least one chair… Great, thanks!… So you’re leaving early tomorrow, right?… Yeah, I should be back at the flat by around… four-ish? If that makes any difference?… Yeah, my lunch break is almost over… I love you too… Bye.”

Dogberry set off down the hallway and beckoned for Verges to follow. When she caught up to him, he turned his face toward her, his eyes glinting with excitement.

“Verges,” he said, tapping the camera, “I believe we have a case!”


	6. Weekend Visit

“Hey Donaldson, can I get those blank audition applications? I need to distribute them to the English teachers.”

John sighed and pulled open the file cabinet next to his desk, glancing up at Cora in irritation. She could have come at a better time, but that would hardly be true to form for her. “Any reason you couldn’t have stopped by at the end of the day?” he asked, annoyance filtering through his voice.

“Because I don’t want to spend any more time in this hell-hole than I need to,” she replied, arms crossed as she leaned against the doorframe.

John’s office phone rang and he picked it up without a thought. “John Donaldson.”

“Hey, bro! Glad I finally reached you.”

Goddamnit. “What do you want, Pedro?” John noticed Cora raise her eyebrows.

“What are you doing this weekend?” Pedro inquired with his characteristically frustrating enthusiasm. “We should hang out.”

John half sat on his desk and rolled his eyes. “Should we?”

“Yeah, bro! I’ve been here for over a month and I haven’t seen you at all.”

“Really? I wonder why.”

Pedro didn’t seem to catch the sarcasm in his voice. “I know, right? So hey, there’s this football game tomorrow for the teacher’s rec league. You should come play with us.”

“You can’t be serious.”

“What?”

“Why would I want to play football? I have other things to do.”

“You need to loosen up, bro. It’ll be fun!”

“Unfortunately, I’m busy this weekend. If that is all, I have to get back to planning.” John hung up the phone without saying goodbye.

“Who’s Pedro?” asked Cora.

“None of your concern,” replied John, flicking through the file cabinet again. He found the file Cora needed and handed it to her. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have work to get done.” He walked around his desk and sat down.

“Oh no. You have to tell me,” said Cora, stepping right in front of the desk. “I’m not leaving this room until you tell me.”

John did his best to ignore her, but after five minutes of her standing there he couldn't do it anymore. “You’ll go away if I tell you?” he asked, without looking at her.

“That’s what I said.”

“He’s my brother. Now get out.”

“Your what?”

John put down his pen and looked at her. “Don’t you have work to do?”

They stared each other down for a few seconds before Cora rolled her eyes and left.

 

* * *

 

Pedro was a bit bummed out that John wouldn’t be joining him for football the next day, but once Olivia arrived, her sunny presence lifted his spirits immediately. Pedro made them dinner (which they ate sitting in the pair of dining room chairs Olivia brought), and they settled into comfortable conversation. Olivia did most of the talking. Her project seemed to be going very well from what Pedro could understand, and while she joked often about how horrible it was, he knew it was all just talk. She loved her work no matter what she said.

Olivia forced him to bed early; she was exhausted from traveling and she knew Pedro well enough to know he was tired as well. But even with getting to bed early, she still had to practically push Pedro out of bed the next morning. 

“How do you get anywhere on time without someone dragging your ass out of bed?” she asked him from her place at the table when he finally shuffled into the kitchen. 

Pedro kissed her cheek then poured himself a bowl of cereal. “Not a clue. What time is it?”

“Half ten.” Olivia watched him sit down, eyeing his hair. “We have enough time to get you a haircut before the football match.” 

“What’s wrong with my hair? You love my hair!” He knew she did; she would tell him all the time.

She laughed. “I do. It’s just getting a little long, don’t you think?” 

Pedro ruffled his hair and brought it down over his face. “What gave you that idea?”

“You’re such a dork.” 

“Thanks,” he grinned. “I’ll get a haircut during the week. This weekend is about us.” 

She smiled fondly at him as she reached forward to fix his hair.

Instead of going out, they ended up lounging around the flat until it was time to go to the match. 

“You said Ben’s playing, yeah?” asked Olivia as they climbed into the car. 

Pedro smiled and turned the car on. “Yeah. He’s the one who invited me along.” 

On the drive over, Pedro rolled the windows down and he and Olivia sang along with the Fife and the Drums CD Olivia had brought with her. It was a beautiful day, not too hot, and Pedro felt completely carefree for the first time in months. 

They arrived to find two teams already gathering on opposite ends of the field. It wasn’t too difficult for Pedro to find Ben, who was grinning and waving his arms wildly. Pedro gave Olivia a peck on the cheek and jogged over towards the pitch as she went to sit on the bleachers. 

“Pedro! My main man!” shouted Ben. “So glad you could make it. I hope you can play striker, because that’s what we need right now.” 

“Sure. What’s the —” Pedro cut off abruptly. He caught sight of two students inching along the side of the athletic building in a comically exaggerated tiptoe. Confused, he tilted his head in their direction. “D’you know who they are?”

Ben looked just in time to catch them as they ran to hide underneath the bleachers. “Oh, I think one of them’s Hugh. He’s one of my year 9s. Quite the vocabulary on that one.” He shrugged. “Dunno why they’re sneaking around, though. It’s not like students are _forbidden_ to come watch — they just usually never bother.”

“Huh,” Pedro said, then put the matter out of his mind. “So what’s the formation?” 

“Dunno. Let’s go find out.”

They joined the team as they stretched and discussed tactics for a few minutes. Everyone seemed to be on board with having Pedro there, which was a nice change from what he was used to. The volunteer referee called for the start of the game, and Pedro took his place on the field. 

He glanced over at Ben, who gave him an enthusiastic thumbs up, and the game began. 

After running the length of the pitch a few times, Pedro realized he was a bit out of practice and a lot out of shape. It didn’t matter, though. The game was still as thrilling as it was back in high school, despite the unorganized plays and mostly unknown teammates. The teams themselves were fairly even when it came to skill. Each had a few stand-out players and a few inexperienced players so it all balanced out in the end. 

The first half went by fairly quickly. Pedro got two goals and an assist. The second half was a little rougher. The opposing team scored almost immediately and then again five minutes later. By that point everyone was getting tired and Pedro could feel himself slowing down. Ben kept clearing the ball much further than was necessary and Pedro had to sprint to catch up with it, which was a challenge. 

“C’mon guys, let’s focus on keeping possession of the ball,” he called, hoping a more defensive strategy might give them a reprieve from sprinting.

With only a few minutes left, his team was still ahead by a point. They lost possession a few times, and Pedro got a little annoyed when Ben tripped over the ball in the last minute which led to the other team almost scoring, but in the end it didn’t matter. Soon enough, the three whistles were blown and the game was over.

Grinning, Pedro jogged past the two students he’d noticed before — at some point they’d ventured to the edge of the pitch carrying a camera — over to where Olivia was standing near the bleachers.

“Yay, Pedro!” she cheered as she made little motions with her arms like she was waving flags. Pedro mimicked her, then flung his arms out wide to give her a hug. “Oh no!” she laughed, taking a few steps back. “I am not hugging your sweaty ass!”

“Canst the fair lady at least give her victor a kiss on the cheek?” asked Pedro, tilting his face towards her.

Olivia smiled and rolled her eyes before giving him a kiss. “Unfortunately, I left the token I was going to give you at home,” she said, patting the other side of his face with her hand.

“I’m just happy you’re here, m’lady.” Pedro heard a small snort from behind him. He turned and realised someone else was standing there.

The woman had long, dark hair and pale skin. She wore a black shirt with black jeans, and Pedro wondered how she could stand the heat.

“Oh!” said Olivia. She motioned to the woman. “Pedro, this is Cora. We got to chatting during the game. She works with John here at Aragon!”

Pedro smiled and reached out a hand in greeting. “Hi! I’m his brother, Pedro.”

Cora remained where she was with her arms crossed in front of her. “John never told me he had a brother.”

“Well, half-brother,” Pedro replied, dropping his hand. “And I guess I’m not that surprised. John’s not much of a talker. Never was.”

“He talks to me.”

Pedro was about to respond when something heavy with twig-like limbs landed on his back, throwing him off balance. He tried and failed to stay upright as he heard Ben yelling, “YAY! YOU DID IT! YOU DID THE — OH SHIT.” They fell to the ground in a large, uncoordinated heap.

Ben continued to jabber on as they both got to their feet. “Pedro, mate, if this relationship is going to work, you gotta be ready for anything.”

Olivia put a hand over her mouth and giggled, looking from Ben to Pedro.

“Don’t encourage him,” Pedro told her as he rubbed the wrist he fell on. It didn’t feel injured, but it still hurt.  “Olivia, this is Ben. Ben, this is my girlfriend, Olivia.”

Ben shook Olivia’s hand enthusiastically. “Olivia! Truly wonderful to meet you. I’ve heard so much from our dear Pedro here.” He slung his arm over Pedro’s shoulder, who shrugged it off, shaking his head and chuckling.

“I’ve heard so much as well,” replied Olivia with a smile. “I’m really glad Pedro has a friend out here.”

Ben looked like he was about to respond when a brief strain of music sounded from his pocket. “Excuse me for a moment.” He pulled out his phone and shielded the screen from the sun as he read.

“Everything alright?” asked Pedro.

“Pedro, everything is just peachy.” Ben put his phone back in his pocket. “As much as I’d love to stay and chat,” he paused for dramatic effect, “I have a date tonight.” He retreated a few steps backward. “Pedro, great to have you here, man. We should do this again some time. Pleasure to meet you, Olivia.” Ben stopped his backtracking for a moment and sneered. “Cora.”

“Hobbes.”

Ben turned on his heel and left. Pedro was surprised. He was pretty sure that was the first time he’d ever seen Ben be openly hostile towards anyone. He turned to Cora. “You two know each other?”

Cora raised an eyebrow. “We’ve met.”

Pedro realised that he probably wasn’t going to get any sort of explanation out of her so he moved on. “Do you know what John’s doing this weekend that’s got him so busy?”

Cora’s arms unfolded and one hand went to her hip. “John’s putting together a musical. It’s not until next term, but we take drama and music very seriously at Aragon, so he gets everything ready in advance.” She looked Pedro up and down. “I heard Messina isn’t doing a play this year. It’s a shame Ursula had to leave.”

Suddenly, Pedro didn’t feel like sticking around anymore. “Well, erm, it was nice chatting with you, but I think Liv and I should head out now. Nice to meet you, Cora.” He gave the woman a small nod, then turned to walk in the direction of the car. 

It took Olivia a few seconds to follow. “Pedro, what was that?” she asked. He shook his head in response. 

They got back to the car and Pedro climbed into the driver’s seat. He’d already started the engine by the time Olivia got in her seat. “Who’s Ursula?” she asked, and Pedro almost stalled the car as he shifted into first.

God, he was sick and tired of hearing about Ursula. “She’s the reason I don’t have any friends,” he muttered quietly.

“What are you talking about? You have Ben. And just the other day you were telling me about that conversation you had with that Chemistry teacher…” she waved her hand in a circle as she thought, “Oh, what’s his name, Nick?”

“Niko. And that was just one conversation. I haven’t talked to him since.”

Olivia sighed. “That’s not like you, hon.”

“You think I don’t know that!” he cried in exasperation. “It’s getting ridiculous! No one other than Ben will talk to me for any real amount of time and yeah, okay, the kids seem to like me and so does the headteacher, but no one else teaching English even says hi to me in the halls, and Balthazar,” Pedro huffed, “Everyone thinks Balthazar’s so great but every time I try to make conversation with him he just shuts me down, and I know he was close with Ursula but —”

“Pedro!” Olivia reached out and covered his hand on the gear shift. “Where the hell did all that come from? Why haven’t you mentioned this to me before?”

Pedro shook his head. “I didn’t want you to think I didn’t like it here.” Which was true. He didn’t want her to think he was already unhappy before she’d even moved here. “I do like it. It’s just a little rough when everyone’s against you from the start.”

Olivia lifted her hand and gently brushed his hair from his forehead. “I’m sorry it’s been difficult. But you have Ben. And you can always call me. I’ll listen.”

Pedro glanced over at her, smiling slightly. “Thanks, Liv.”

She smiled back at him. “Let’s get home, yeah? I need to check in with work and you desperately need a shower. You smell horrible, hon.”

“Is that right?” Pedro laughed. “Why do you have to check in with work? It’s the weekend.”

“You know me. Always working. And you know Ria. Do you really think I can trust her to make sure the testing gets done?”

Pedro personally thought Ria was perfectly competent, but he wasn’t about to say that. “Okay, fine. Go ahead and call work, I’ll take a shower.”

“Where did you want to go tonight? You sounded like you had a few ideas.”

The first thing that came to Pedro’s mind for tonight was the open mic at The Brick Cellar. Pedro knew Olivia would love it, but something about it didn’t really feel right. Balthazar didn’t seem too thrilled with the idea when Pedro had tried to talk to him earlier; maybe that was it. Either way, Pedro decided against it.

“How about Italian?” 

 

* * *

 

“I met your brother this weekend.” 

John repressed a groan and looked up to meet Cora’s eyes as she stood leaning against the doorway. “I thought you said you didn’t want spend any more time in this hell-hole than necessary,” he retorted.

“He’s the one Duke got to replace Kuang.”

“I’m aware.” 

Cora shrugged. “I just think it’s interesting. Do you think he might take over drama as well?”

“Pedro hasn’t got an artistic bone in his body,” John scoffed, looking back down at the papers he was grading. 

“He asked about you.” 

John’s head snapped up. “What did you say?”  Cora just shrugged. She was being purposefully difficult. “Cora. What did you tell him?” 

“I just told him you were busy with the musical. I didn’t tell him you’re avoiding him, which clearly you are.” 

There were very few people who could push John’s buttons, but Cora was one of them. “My brother and I were never close. He shouldn’t expect us to be now.” Why was he still friends with her again?

Cora rolled her eyes. “Whatever.” She pulled a file folder out from her bag. “Here’s the shit you asked me to get from Monty. I also got Wearota to call about costume rentals and I told Egan to start bothering Borachio about his grades, but we think he’ll be alright to audition.” 

Right. That’s why John’s still friends with her — she gets shit done. “Good. Thanks, Cora.” 

“Say hi to your brother for me.”


	7. An Unexpected Journey

Four weeks into the start of year 13, Claudio reflected on his talking-to-Hero-more campaign. He felt pleased to realize it was actually going pretty well this year. Last year had been a disaster. Last year he had accidentally addressed her as “socks” instead of “Hero” because he was so distracted by the shape of her calves in her lavender knee socks that the word slipped out of his mouth without his permission. It was a stroke of pure luck that she interpreted it as a cute, jokey nickname, used on purpose, instead of realizing that he actually _was_ that tongue-tied in her presence.

The one caveat to the success of his campaign was that it only worked as long as he had something to talk to her about. The nickname had stuck, but that could only get him through the opening of the conversation, could only get her attention, not hold it. He’d become more adept at finding small, amusing topics to light on — the slightly frightening consistency of the chilli chips in the cafeteria, the angle of Mr. Donaldson’s tie which always grew increasingly skewed throughout the day — but these took careful planning. He still faltered when put on the spot to create conversation.

It was easiest to talk to her about their classes. They took English, Maths, and Honors Choir together, so there was no shortage of available topics, but those weren’t the type of classes that required them to work on projects together, so he still had to finagle time with her outside of class. If Claudio had been a bit more courageous, he might have suggested revising Maths or practicing their vocal parts together, but that seemed a bit too intimate for his comfort. He needed something more public to ease into spending time with her.

So when he saw the Facebook post from Temaia, his friend from primary school who now attended Aragon High, it seemed like a perfect opportunity:

> _The Aragon High Drama department will hold auditions for their spring production of_ West Side Story _, directed by John Donaldson. Auditions will be held on Saturday, June 20 in the Aragon High auditorium. Applications may be submitted now through April 2, in hard copy or online through_[ _this form_](http://goo.gl/forms/ep4t91LlM6) _._
> 
> _Auditions open to any secondary school students residing within the city of Auckland who maintain a minimum grade of M in each of their classes. Applicants for lead roles should prepare a solo song from_ West Side Story _as well as a Shakespearean monologue of choice. Other applicants may prepare a song from a musical of their choice. Acting and singing experience preferred, but not required._

Claudio couldn’t imagine anyone more suited to sing “I Feel Pretty” than Hero Duke — she had a gorgeous voice. He suddenly imagined himself with greased hair and canvas sneakers, wooing Hero as Maria, sharing a kiss onstage, and the thought intoxicated him. But even if neither of them got a part, preparing for the audition would provide several weeks’ worth of conversation, and he couldn’t afford to shirk an opportunity to increase his conversational repertoire.He promised himself he would suggest they both take the audition when he next saw her on Monday morning. If the magic of the theater couldn’t bring them together, he didn’t know what could.

 

* * *

 

When Balthazar walked into The Weta Cave Shop, the sheer grandeur of Tolkien come to life overwhelmed him. He’d been impatient all week to visit Ursula, but his impatience faded to the background as he was drawn into the world of Middle Earth. He took a deep breath and felt some of the tension shake off his shoulders. He’d known he needed to get away, but he hadn’t quite realized how badly he needed it until he’d stepped off the redeye in Wellington the night before.

The timing was perfect, really. In the same week that Ursula’s crew returned from capturing footage on the South Island, Balthazar’s term finally began to settle into a comfortable rhythm, allowing him to take a break from class prep for a weekend. He knew The Brick Cellar regulars would miss him, but he was willing to miss an open mic to get out of Auckland for a couple days, away from everything outside of class that was rote and stifling and painful. 

He knew that in the film industry, just like in all the arts, the concept of weekends didn’t hold much water. (In fact, he’d still brought his scores with him on his mini-holiday, because it felt wrong not to.) But Ursula had assured him that she could take the afternoon off without repercussions, and so after a morning spent wandering the Botanical Gardens and listening to recordings of possible new choral pieces, he’d come to meet her here in Miramar.

He wasn’t sure how long he spent examining the Middle Earth replicas before Ursula’s voice echoed out of the back room.

“Balthazar!” She hurried over to him, skirting the life-sized armored mannequins, and hugged him tightly.

“Ursula...” He wanted to say _it’s so good to see you_ , but suddenly it was all he could do not to cry. In the month and a half since he’d broken up with Tony, the utter lack of physical affection had taken its toll; he felt starved for human contact. He shut his eyes and held on tight, silently thanking her for understanding that he needed nothing more than just to be held for a few moments.

At length, he pulled back and managed a smile. “So, are you hungry?”

“Ravenous,” she gushed. “But I’m really craving Fidel’s. You up for a bus ride?”

“Yeah, sure. It would seem wrong to come to Wellington without stopping in Cuba Street.”

During the relatively short bus journey, Ursula divulged everything she thought she might be allowed to share. “I’ll give you a hint,” she said, “what we just finished filming had to do with the Two Trees of Valinor. But that’s all I can say.” Still, her excitement was infectious, and Balthazar was feeling happier than he’d felt in a long time.

“So tell me about classes,” she said through bites of her sandwich once they’d tucked in to their lunches.

Balthazar beamed. “The kids are so amazing this year.”

“I knew it! That’s great, Balthy.”

“Yeah, I’m so impressed with them all. The orchestra is kicking ass at a Handel concerto grosso and that Vaughan Williams piece I played for you a few months ago, and Honors Choir pretty much has this term’s music down. I’m thinking of giving them a head start on something really challenging for next term… maybe Eric Whitacre’s _Five Hebrew Love Songs_? But Concert Choir is the one that I’m the most impressed with. Like, some of those kids have never even sung before, and they’ve just made these huge strides.”

Ursula smiled. “Can’t say I’m surprised. They have the best leader they could ask for.”

He blushed and hid behind a sip of his iced tea.

“Speaking of how awesome you are and how much you deserve to be happy,” she continued, her smile acquiring a teasing note, “have you met any cute new guys lately?”

Balthazar sighed. It wasn’t an entirely unexpected avenue of conversation, but he was still a little uncomfortable with the subject. “It’s way too soon for me to even be thinking about dating anyone again. You know that.”

“It’s never too soon to window shop,” she grinned.

“It’s not like I’ve had much opportunity, you know. I’ve barely had any time away from school. The only new person I’ve met recently is that obnoxious guy who replaced you in Ben’s department, and he hardly counts. All I’ve been doing outside of school is score study and the open mics. I’ve barely even had time to practice or do any writing. Forget dating.”

“I’ll reiterate that we’re not talking about dating here, we’re only talking about _looking_ ,” she pointed out. “So there haven’t even been any cute guys at the bar for the open mic?”

Balthazar shook his head.

“What about that new guy? Pedro, right? Is he good looking?”

“Ursula, come on,” he chuckled humourlessly. “I just told you he was obnoxious! You really think I’d be paying attention to what he looks like?”

She shrugged. “You never know. What’s obnoxious about him? Ben keeps telling me how awesome he is.”

Balthazar stifled a groan. “He irritates me. I think Ben’s just still in his new-person-excitement phase.”

“But what is it that you don’t like about him?”

He sighed. “Well, he’s no you, that’s for sure.”

“Psh. You like Ben, and he’s not me… Bea’s not me either, but you like her.”

“Honestly,” he admitted, “I’m still kinda pissed at Bea. I can’t get over the fact that she didn’t stand up for me on the instrument repair funding.”

“I thought you got that sorted out?”

He raised a wry eyebrow. “If by ‘sorted out’ you mean I dipped into my own savings to fix the more egregious repairs and told the other students to make do with what they got, then yeah, I guess I did.” 

“But you never talked to Bea about it?”

He hesitated, then shook his head.

“Oh Balthy,” Ursula sighed. “One of these days you’re gonna have to figure out how to talk to people who aren’t me, you know.”

“I talk to people,” he insisted.

“Sure, just not when you’re upset.”

He shrugged. “It’s just easier to take care of it on my own.”

“Whatever,” she said, rolling her eyes. “But you changed the subject! Why don’t you like this Pedro guy? And don’t tell me it’s because he’s not me.”

“Why do you even care whether I like him or not? Why does it matter?” He knew he was evading the question, but he didn’t care to think about why.

“I just thought you could use another friend, and that he might be a good candidate since Ben’s given him the seal of approval. Besides, if he’s got the ‘in’ with the Aragon Drama department, maybe you could convince him to —”

“No, Ursula.” He shook his head emphatically. “That is so completely above and beyond my job description.”

“Do you really think it’s fair that the students are losing that opportunity just because the funding fell through?”

“No,” he admitted reluctantly.

“And you didn’t mind helping me out when I ran it…”

“But that was different. I wanted to help you because we’re friends.”

“Exactly! You and Pedro could be friends, too!” She threw her hands up and smiled, as if this answered everything.

“I can’t just magically make friendship happen,” he said, stabbing the remnants of his salad. “You of all people should know that about me. Besides, he’s just… pretentious, okay?”

“Okay,” she conceded. “But in what way?”

“He has an iPad.”

“I have an iPad. And…?”

“ _And_ … he… I just…” Balthazar faltered. How could he explain that something about Pedro, something he couldn’t put his finger on, got under his skin? “He just… his hair is ridiculous,” he finally said. “It’s like he’s trying to look like some hip uni student. I don’t know who he thinks he’s fooling, but — what? What’s so funny?”

Ursula had begun cackling, and Balthazar fidgeted with the sleeves of his cardigan as he noticed the couple a few tables away staring at them.

“Stop laughing!” he continued. “What is it?”

“Oh Balthy,” she said as she caught her breath, “you don’t like him because of his hair?”

“I didn’t say that was the _only_ reason…” he muttered.

“You do know that you _also_ have hipster-student hair, right?”

He couldn’t help it — the beginnings of a smirk sneaked onto his face. “Shut up.”

Ursula rested her chin in her hands, her rapt attention only slightly exaggerated. “So tell me all these other reasons that you think he’s pretentious, then. If it’s not just his hair.”

He blurted the next thing that came to mind. “His tie is always crooked.”

Confusion crossed Ursula’s face. “He’s pretentious because his tie is always crooked? That doesn’t even make sense.”

“No,” Balthazar rolled his eyes, “he’s _annoying_ because his tie is always crooked. I want to fix it but I can’t.”

“You want to fix his tie,” she asked flatly.

“It’s annoying!” he insisted. “You get that, right? Seeing it all crooked like that and not being able to fix it is like… It’s like stopping a scale on the leading tone.” He began to sing. “ _Do, re, mi, fa, sol, la, ti_ …” He let the pitch hang in the air.

“ _Do_ ,” Ursula finished.

“See? It’s terrible! So annoying. He’s like a _ti_ that won’t resolve to _do_.”

Ursula frowned at him. “I still don’t understand. Ben says he’s cool. Maybe you just need to get to know him a little better.”

He groaned. “ _No_. He just…” Balthazar let his gaze wander, unfocused, out the window. This conversation seemed to be going in circles, and Ursula still wasn’t getting it. “I can’t explain it. I just don’t want to be friends with him, okay? Can we be done with this?”

“Fine! I never said you had to like him.”

“Fine. Good.”

 

* * *

 

_It’s fine. You can do this. She gave you her number. She offered it to you. She wants you to text her._

Claudio lay on his bed, staring at the blinking cursor in the message box on his phone. A good two hours had passed since he arrived home that afternoon, and he had yet to work up the courage to text Hero.

At first he’d thought it was too soon to text her. He didn’t want to seem overeager, and if she got a text before she even got home, she’d immediately realize how little self-control he had.

After twenty minutes or so, he figured she’d be home, but at that point she would need to get a snack. Better not to interrupt her before she ate something. The thought of food made Claudio’s stomach grumble, but the ecstatic nausea of watching her enter her number into his phone that morning hadn’t yet worn off.

He still couldn’t believe that she had been so receptive to his suggestion that they take the audition together. To think he’d been so excited that he nearly told her he would send her the info on Facebook, where they’d been friends since the history class project they’d done together in year 10. Instead, she had smiled that world-stopping smile, and before he recovered himself she had opened her hand to him.

“Sounds like fun! Can you text me the details? Here, let me give you my number.”

She had offered him her number.

And now he was glaring at the number, trying to convince himself that it was finally okay to text her and drafting various iterations of the same brief message, each more horrible than the last: 

**Claudio** [draft]: Hi Hero. West Side Story auditions are on June 20 at the Aragon High auditorium. Sign up by April 2.

Claudio grimaced. It felt too formal, too distant. He couldn’t even bear to look at it, so he hit backspace and started again:

**Claudio** [draft]: Hero! Thank you for giving me your number. Now we can text each other all the time!

He barely finished typing before he hit backspace again with a shiver of embarrassment. He spent an hour writing and rewriting, until he had a short, appropriately cheeky message that still conveyed the details of the audition.

**Claudio** [draft]: Audition details as requested, m’lady: June 20 at the Aragon High auditorium. Sign up by April 2. Knee socks preferred but not required.

He’d nearly hit send, before realizing that perhaps the cheekiness would come through more clearly if he added a winky face. He typed a winky face. He deleted the winky face. He typed a regular smiley face. He deleted that. He typed “xx” which was how his mother signed all her texts to him. But surely that was too much? He deleted them again. He typed the winky face again, then added a single “x” after. No, the kiss was still too much.

“Claudio! Dinner!” his mother called. Her voice startled him, and when his eyes returned to his phone, he realized he’d accidentally hit send in his surprise. With the winky face. _And_ the kiss. His stomach churned.

“I’m not hungry, mum!”

 


	8. Nonverbal Communication

Sometimes, Beatrice had to just sit back in her chair, close her eyes, and attempt to clear her mind. On an individual basis, the tasks that she had to perform as a headteacher were not overly challenging, but the sheer number of responsibilities expected of her at any given time was enough to make her head explode.

No matter where she was or what she was doing, some part of Beatrice was always thinking about the new staff appointments or the welfare of specific students or the budget cuts. She hadn’t even seen a pupil since she had closed the door to her office this morning. Of course, not every day was like that, but today was one of those days. _Is this why I came into teaching,_ she wondered, _to sit behind a desk surrounded by reports and papers?_  

And it wasn’t as if her personal life was stress-free either. 

Particularly frustrating were her mother’s increasingly ingenious ways of bringing the topic of children into every conversation they had. As if Beatrice didn’t have enough to worry about without her mother implying that her uterus was a ticking time bomb. She didn’t think she could stand having to brush off another mention of the “bleak, barren future” awaiting her. Beatrice was far more preoccupied about the school’s results this year than producing offspring and didn’t see that changing anytime soon.

And another thing — the governors were pushing a project on her that seemed extremely worthwhile on face value, but Beatrice couldn’t suppress her reservations. The project, due to launch the following month, was aimed at encouraging students in Year 11 to think about further education, and involved a week long residential in the local university. 

It was fully funded, but the drawback niggling at Beatrice’s mind was the fact that the students had to write a two page application letter. It wasn’t a lot, but she knew the students who most needed this sort of experience were exactly the ones who would not receive enough encouragement and support from their parents to apply. She could ask the Year 11 tutors to help them, but unfortunately she knew that several tutors either couldn’t or wouldn’t assist these kids.

What she really needed, Beatrice decided, was a member of staff to take on the responsibility for encouraging and helping students from difficult backgrounds to apply for the project. It would need to be someone who had a good rapport with the pupils and who genuinely cared about them. 

Perhaps someone who already owed her a favour, in fact...

 

* * *

 

It all began with a staff meeting and a bigot.

Balthazar had been fed up with the meeting even before Mr. Harries began to talk about “the kids who don’t even want to be here.” Of course, Balthazar disagreed on a fundamental level with labelling pupils in this way. The concept that children who were not brought up to value education somehow deserved it less infuriated him, and he particularly disliked advantaged, middle-aged teachers using it as an excuse not to even attempt to engage with their students. At best it was lazy; at worst it was elitist.

Whenever this sort of discussion emerged in a staff meeting, Balthazar usually did his best to distract himself from the intolerance. On this occasion, he was glancing around the other teachers when he noticed Pedro Donaldson (or ‘Not-Ursula’ as he hadn’t quite gotten out of the habit of privately terming him). Pedro was bent forwards in his chair, looking at Mr. Harries with an expression dripping with contempt. Then, when another member of staff said, “yes, exactly,” Pedro sat back and gave an eyeroll so vast that Balthazar was surprised he didn’t strain an optic nerve. 

Something about the way that Pedro was perfectly exhibiting his own thoughts made Balthazar smirk. It was just unfortunate that it was this moment when Pedro’s eye roll concluded and they were looking directly at each other across the crowded staff room.

Balthazar swivelled his gaze away, abashed at having been caught off guard. He endeavoured to focus instead on what Beatrice was saying to shut Mr. Harries down. When he allowed himself to glance back, though, Pedro was still looking at him. He wore a friendly, questioning look that asked louder than words, “you agree that he’s an asshat, yeah?”

Balthazar gave a corroborating smile, then looked determinedly away for the remainder of the meeting. Just because Pedro had a nice face with an effective exasperated expression, there was no reason to start getting ideas. They weren’t suddenly going to become best friends, despite what Ursula thought.

At the end of the meeting, Balthazar quickly gathered his things and headed toward the door, not wanting to invite conversation with Not-Ursula. Instead, he ran directly into Ben.

“Sorry,” he muttered.

“No problem, my friend!” Ben said with a grin. “How are you? Hey, you should come around for dinner tonight,” he proposed. “You need to get out of that flat.”

“Well, I am looking for a new place.”

“Are you? Not exactly what I meant, but that’s great! In the meantime, though — dinner tonight. I’ll make pizza. Well,” he amended with a grin, “I’ll get pizza. I definitely think there’s some in the freezer.”

Balthazar shook his head. “Nah, I can’t.”

“Oh yeah?” Ben cocked his head on one side. “Why? Got a date?”

He met this suggestion with a justifiable grimace. “You know, I’ve got to hand in my result predictions tomorrow and I’ve not even started, of course.”

“Just tell Bea that you’re ill!” 

“Ha ha,” Balthazar laughed sardonically. “Hilarious.”

“Okay, yeah, that probably wouldn’t work,” Ben smirked. “But we’ll have to arrange something soon.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’d like to.” And Balthazar was surprised that he was actually telling the truth. “Could we do tomorrow?”

Ben clapped him on the back. “It’s a date! Maybe I’ll invite Pedro around too. You guys should be friends.” When Balthazar just sighed and folded his arms, Benedick rolled his eyes in an exaggerated way. “Not you too, Balthy! There is way too much Pedro-hate in the air these days. Come on, mate! Why can’t you just give him a chance? What is so bloody wrong with him?”

“Um…” Balthazar didn’t like saying negative things to people who were any less than Ursula-level on the friendship scale. It made him feel awkward. “I don’t know him. He seems fine.”

“He’s better than fine,” Benedick insisted. “He’s a super cool guy and I’ll fight anyone who says otherwise.” Though with the coffee stains down the front of his puce green shirt, Balthazar wasn’t sure how much of an authority on cool Benedick could be.

Pedro couldn’t come to dinner the next day, as it turned out, so Ben’s grand friend-matchmaking scheme was all for naught. Balthazar didn’t bother to hide his relief. It was much easier just to talk and eat with someone he knew, exchanging anecdotes about their classes and the funny things their students said.

Balthazar successfully managed to avoid Pedro for the next week or so, until he found himself sitting directly opposite him in another staff meeting. When Mr. Harries started bemoaning his bottom set Year 10s, Balthazar unintentionally looked Pedro’s way and caught his eye. Pedro raised his eyebrows slightly and Balthazar gave a collaborative smirk before looking away.

Balthazar couldn’t deny that it was nice to have someone to share the odd glance with, even if it was decidedly _not_ Ursula. It wasn’t that Balthazar exactly _liked_ Pedro in any real sense of the word. They hadn’t even spoken since their first conversation at the beginning of term. Strictly speaking, they were colleagues more than friends. But it soon became normal for them to give each other the odd ironic smile in staff meetings or assemblies. 

The closest Balthazar got to actually talking to Pedro (not including Pedro’s ambush of him the first week of term) came when he arrived particularly late to a staff meeting and the most convenient free seat just happened to be right next to Pedro. They shared a moment of acknowledgement, then Balthazar sat down and got a bottle of water out of his bag while Ms. Cross, the textiles teacher, talked about the issue of students not adhering to dress code. 

Ms. Cross was a rather uppity lady who took herself a good deal too seriously in Balthazar’s opinion. She was also exceedingly, exasperatingly proud of her husband, the business consultant, who was single-handedly holding up the New Zealand economy (if Ms. Cross was to be believed). 

Balthazar was really not in the correct frame of mind to be in a serious meeting. He had just spent the last hour in a playful sectional with his second violins. He had been rehearsing a particularly tricky _sul G_ passage while they had been creating ridiculous innuendos relating to everything he said, attempting to make him blush. Balthazar had been doing well right up until the last ten minutes when he had finally cracked (“Come on, Mr. Jones! We’re just trying to finger the G-string!”) and told them all to stop being so filthy. The violinists had taken this as a victory, but Balthazar knew he had won because none of them would ever forget the meaning of “ _sul G_.”

Unfortunately, Ms. Cross told the assembled staff that they were going about the problem in the wrong way and in her prim and proper way stated, “Like my husband always says, we need to take it from behind.”

It took all Balthazar’s willpower to control the laughter that bubbled in his gut and gripped his cheek muscles. Pedro nudged him in the ribs but Balthazar didn’t dare look at him. His mouth was full of his last sip of water.

But then Ben spoke up from the other side of the room and in an innocuous tone said, “Your husband… _always_ says that does he?”

Pedro barked a laugh and Balthazar’s laughter erupted, spraying the water in his mouth everywhere.

“Sorry!” he said to Ms. Cross, who was too busy glaring at Benedick to meet his eye. “Sorry!” he said to the people sitting around him who were now a little damp. “Sorry,” he said to Beatrice, though her eyes were twinkling.

Pedro was shaking next to him and Ben’s distinctive laugh was joined by a few others. For a brief moment, Balthazar glanced up at the English teacher next to him and enjoyed the glow of mutual hilarity.

When the meeting ended, Balthazar slipped his pen and diary into his bag and looked expectantly up at Pedro, who was already standing and waiting. Before even a single word could be exchanged, though, the distinctive sound of Sheep, Dog & Wolf’s ‘Glare’ began to play from within Pedro’s pocket. He pulled out his phone and, after checking who it was, gave Balthazar an apologetic look. “I’ve got to take this.”

Balthazar shrugged with a nonchalant smile and attempted not to listen as Pedro walked out of the staff room. He heard anyway.

“Hey, hon, how did it go?”

Balthazar felt a jab of something like loneliness, tinged perhaps with envy, but he tried to put it out of his mind.

 

* * *

 

It was late and Beatrice knew she should be going home. But she also knew that even if she was at home she wouldn’t be able to stop thinking about this pile of work sitting here judgmentally on her desk. And she still hadn’t nailed down the logistics for the university experience project, which began in just a few days.

What she really wanted was a drink and something to stop all of these thoughts, if only for a little while.

Just then, as if someone had read her mind, Beatrice’s office door flew open and she knew immediately who it was. Knocking was customary for most members of staff, except of course for...

“Hey, you’re still here. Just wondering, can I take a group of —” Benedick began, then broke off abruptly when Beatrice swivelled around in her chair. “Whoa, you look knackered.”

Beatrice scowled. “Thank you.”

Benedick held up his hands in mock submission. “I was just saying. I’m pretty stressed myself over here, thank you for noticing.”

Beatrice gave an exasperated sigh and asked, “What do you want, Benedick? I do want to go home at some point tonight. This better be work related.”

“They’re showing the play that the Year 13s are studying at the local theatre. We should take them to see it.”

“Fantastic.”

“But… it’s during school hours.”

Beatrice ran a hand over her forehead. “Are you trying to kill me?” she demanded.

“ERO would approve.” 

School inspectors were really the last thing that Beatrice wanted to think about right now. “ERO doesn’t have to deal with reams of paperwork and grumpy teachers who are missing valuable teaching time with their final years.”

“I’ll sort it all out.”

“Damn right, you will.”

“You look like you could do with a drink.”

Beatrice blinked at the change of tack. “What?”

“I mean, we should go and get a drink,” Benedick clarified. “Not that I have brought alcohol with me. That would be… sackable.”

Beatrice couldn’t help smiling. It always cheered her up to remember that she had the power to fire Benedick.

“Is that a ‘yes’?” Benedick asked, eyeing her smile suspiciously.

Beatrice wasn’t really sure, but it was exactly what she had been wishing for a moment ago so she found herself nodding. “If you’re paying.”

Benedick gave an exaggerated shrug and leaned faux-casually against the doorframe. “Well, I earn about _half_ of your salary so I really feel it should be the other way around.”

“If you didn’t waste your money on things like bike accessories and football shirts...”

“That’s not a waste! Those are things —” Benedick began but then stopped himself. “No, I’m not getting into this again. Come on. Stop that. Let’s go and get a beer.”

“Okay,” Beatrice acquiesced, with only the smallest amount of hesitancy. She began to clear the documents on her desk and file them away into different folders. “As long as you actually order a beer and not some fruity martini like last time.”

“They taste exquisite!”

“I’m not sitting with you if you drink that.”

“Snob.”

Beatrice smiled again, her heart feeling lighter than it had in days. Then she remembered something. “Actually, there is a favour that I need from you…”

 


	9. Promotion

“So…”

Hero rolled her eyes at Meg as they walked toward the Humanities block, the late morning sun bright on their faces. “So? I just told you — we got together for a rehearsal, that’s all. That’s what people do to prepare for auditions, you know.”

“Yeah, and private rehearsals are also a prime opportunity for _making your move_.” Meg waggled her eyebrows so wildly, Hero wondered if they might slither completely off her face.

“Meg! How many times do I have to tell you, there is no move to be made here! Claudio and I are friends, that’s all. Besides, it wasn’t a private rehearsal — Mr. Jones was there. He played piano for us while we practiced. You really want me to ask someone out in front of a teacher?”

They’d arrived in front of Mr. Jones’ room just at that moment, where Meg was going to stop in for Concert Choir. Hero had Art next period, but she lingered, as she knew she still had several minutes before the bell was to go off. On the one hand, Meg’s teasing about Claudio made her uncomfortable, but on the other hand it was nice to have someone to talk to about him. She probably could have talked to one of her mums — she knew they were both interested to know about her life and her feelings — but there was a thrill to being interrogated by Meg that she didn’t get from confiding in Mum or Mumma. She sometimes felt like an emotional masochist, but she couldn’t bring herself to honestly ask Meg to stop pestering her.

“How can you say there’s no move to be made?” Meg asked incredulously. “He is so far gone, I can’t —”

“Hey, um, Socks,” came a too-loud voice from their side. Hero’s stomach flopped, and Meg’s grin spread shamelessly across her face.

“Hey, Claudio,” Hero replied. She took a deep breath, trying to keep herself grounded through her nerves.

“So, um, I was, uh…” he began, then cleared his throat. “I mean, you sounded great yesterday. At the rehearsal, I mean.”

“Thanks. You did, too. Have you sung West Side Story before?”

“Yeah. Oh, I mean no. I mean, I’ve like, sung along with recordings and stuff.”

Hero chuckled, Claudio’s obvious nerves making her feel oddly more comfortable. “Well yeah, me too. It’s one of my favourite musicals, obviously.”

“Obviously,” he replied, his eyes darting to the linoleum of the hallway.

“Are you two gonna rehearse together again?” Meg butted in. “Hero has a piano at home, so you wouldn’t even have to arrange it with Mr. Jones.” Her eyes twinkled at Hero wickedly.

“Maybe…” Hero said, glancing up at Claudio shyly.

“Oh!” he said, his brow furrowing in confusion. “I mean, we could, um, rehearse at… but I was, uh… do you wanna get dinner with me?” he suddenly blurted, eyes still on the ground.

“Excuse me, guys,” Mr. Jones said as he approached them from down the hall. “You’re kind of blocking my doorway here.”

Hero looked up to see a quietly amused smirk on the music teacher’s face as he glanced between her and Claudio, and she felt her cheeks begin to burn. She shuffled quickly out of the way as Meg laughed and said, “Oh sorry, we were just a bit preoccupied. We’ll pay more attention.”

“Actually, why don’t you come take your seat, Meg. I’m sure these two have other classes to get to.” Hero couldn’t be sure, but she thought she saw Mr. Jones wink at Claudio as he towed Meg behind him into the choir room.

“Um, so, uh…” Claudio mumbled, his face beet red.

“Yes,” Hero said, smiling. “How about tomorrow?”

Claudio looked up at her finally, disbelief in his eyes. “Yeah? Really?”

“Yeah, really. It’ll be fun. I, um, I gotta go, but I’ll see you in English later?” Hero didn’t wait for a response before turning on her heel. Nervous excitement bubbled up within her, and it carried her on air through the rest of the day.

 

* * *

 

“Hey, hon, how did it go?” Pedro smiled, his face still hurting from laughing at Ms. Cross’s inadvertent innuendo during the meeting.

“Oh! Hey, Pedro. I wasn’t… I assumed you wouldn’t pick up, since you’re at work,” Olivia said hesitantly.

“Just got out of a meeting,” Pedro replied, striding purposefully back to the Humanities block. “What’s up? Is everything okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, of course. Everything’s great!” There was a false brightness to her voice. “Just… I was going to leave a message. But I guess I could tell you now…”

“Liv, you’re starting to worry me. Are you sure everything’s okay?”

A sigh travelled down the phone line. “I’m actually great. I got offered that promotion today.”

Pedro broke into a giant grin. “Liv! That’s amazing! Congratulations!”

“Yeah…” she trailed off.

“Hon, why aren’t you more excited about this? You’ve been waiting for this for ages! You deserve this recognition.” He bounded up the stairs to his classroom, taking them two at a time.

“It’s just…” she paused. “It turns out that in order to take it, I have to move to Melbourne.”

He stopped in his tracks. “What?”

“This is why I didn’t want to tell you all the details right now. I know you have to teach.”

He suddenly felt as though his lungs couldn’t draw enough air. “But… What happened to Auckland? I’ve only been here like two months! You’re telling me I have to move again? Already?”

She sighed again. “I’m not telling you you have to do anything. Look, I just wanted to tell you that I got the offer. Let’s talk about this later, okay? I’ll call you tonight.”

The warning bell rang, and a throng of students swarmed the stairs, buffeting Pedro to the side as he stood in silence.

“Pedro?” Olivia continued. “You okay? We can talk now if you have time, I just thought —”

“No,” said Pedro, finally snapping back into the moment and continuing up the stairs. “No, you’re right. I have to go. I’ll call you tonight.”

“Or I’ll call you, or…”

“Yeah. Yeah. I guess… I guess I’ll talk to you later.”

“Okay.”

Pedro stayed on the line in a daze as he walked the rest of the way to his classroom, feeling like the conversation wasn’t over but not knowing how to finish it. He could hear Olivia on the other end as well, though whether she was waiting for him to say something or just to hang up, he didn’t know. Finally, he heard another sigh, and then a soft click, and the line went dead. He stared at his phone for a moment, trying to remember where his mind had been before she called. As the students began to file noisily into the classroom behind him, he decided it was best to turn the phone completely off rather than risk any more interruptions.

The rest of the day dragged more slowly than any other school day he could remember. He kept losing his train of thought during class, and had to ask students to repeat what they’d just shared several times. He forgot to give his year 12s the extra credit assignment he’d spent the whole previous evening creating. The year 13s were openly ignoring him, talking and flirting and laughing, and instead of trying to corral the discussion, he decided to offer them quiet reading time for the rest of the period.

He quickly realized that was a mistake. Not only did it allow them to become even more distracted, with only perhaps two or three students actually trying to read, it meant that Pedro didn’t have anything to blot out the words that kept running through his head: _I’m not telling you you have to do anything._

He knew all too well what those words meant. She’d said them to him when she was thinking about transferring to Auckland six months ago. She’d said them two and a half years before that, when they’d initially moved to Wellington. And she’d said them not long before the Auckland transfer, when it looked as though she might have to transfer to Christchurch, though ultimately the opportunity had fallen through. Olivia had been disappointed, but Pedro was secretly relieved. 

This was becoming a painfully familiar conversation that only grew more difficult each time they had it. Even the decision to move to Auckland, which allowed Pedro to be closer to his family, had been an ordeal. After nearly three years in Wellington, he’d put down roots. He had a job he liked, a football league that struck just the right balance of fun and dedication, a favorite pub, a support network. He’d had a home. Auckland hadn’t been home for him since he’d been in high school.

The last thing he wanted to do was have this conversation yet again. So when the final bell rang, he found every excuse he could to stay at school and postpone the inevitable. He graded a couple essays before giving up due to distraction, then spent an hour googling for public domain photographs that he could use for his upcoming handout on _The Bone People_. By the time dusk began to settle, he resigned himself to the fact that he’d have to go home eventually. He packed up his papers, threw on his jacket and messenger bag, and headed out to the parking lot.

Just as he opened his car door, he heard a voice calling from the direction of the Humanities building.

“All right, mate? You’re here late.”

Pedro swiveled around and froze as Balthazar, his shoulders laden with two large messenger bags and a cello case, emerged from the building.

“Yeah, I… yeah,” he stammered, caught off guard. “I, uh… gotta go.”

“Oh,” Balthazar said, his brow creased in confusion. “Okay…”

“Bye.” Pedro swung into the driver’s seat of his car and pulled out of the parking lot. He was halfway down the hill before he realized that that was the first time Balthazar had ever willingly spoken to him, and Pedro had been too distracted to even be polite, let alone friendly. Nearly two months of wondering where he might have gone wrong with the music teacher, and today of all days had to be the day that Balthazar finally reached out to him. Of course. So much for making friends.

He dawdled a bit when he got home as well, taking several extra minutes to change into track pants and a t-shirt, pay a few bills, and eat a small snack, before he turned his phone back on. As he expected, there were already two voicemails from Olivia waiting for him:

_“You have two unheard messages. First unheard message.”_

“Hey, it’s me. Sorry I caught you off guard earlier. I guess you’re not home yet? Call me.”

_“Next unheard message.”_

“Pedro, please call me. It’s getting late, and I don’t understand why I can’t reach you yet. I want to talk about this, okay? Just call me. I love you.”

And this was the moment that Pedro realized what had been missing from their earlier conversation. He hadn’t said I love you, and neither had she. Had it really come to this? He did love her; he knew he did. So why hadn’t he remembered to say it?

Taking a deep breath, he pressed ‘call back’ from the voicemail screen and waited. She picked up on the second ring.

“Hey! I was starting to worry that you didn’t want to talk to me.”

“Sorry, Liv,” he replied, “I had a bunch of crap to take care of after school. I actually just got home.”

“Oh, that sucks. I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, it’s… whatever. It’s fine.”

“So, um… Melbourne,” she began. “If I take it, it would start next month.”

Pedro furrowed his brow. “ _If_ you take it? You haven’t decided yet?”

“Well… I haven’t confirmed it with them yet.”

“But you’re taking it.” When she didn’t respond immediately, Pedro continued, “You’re taking it, right?”

“I mean… yeah.”

“Good. You should take it.”

“Really?” 

“Of course. I told you earlier — you deserve it. It’s what you’ve been working for. Of course you should take it.”

“Oh, thank goodness,” she said, the relief palpable in her voice. “I know it’s going to be hard, and —”

“Liv…”

“— and you can finish out the school year before you move, and obviously I know it’s not driveable anymore but we can probably swing flights every month or two, and —”

“Liv.”

“Yeah?”

Pedro bit his lip, curling his toes over the edge of the conversation before he jumped. “I love you.”

“I love you, too!”

“But I… I can’t do this.” He squeezed his eyes shut to block out the effect of his words.

“…Oh.”

He sighed and ran a hand over his face. “It’s just too much. I know how important your career is to you, which is great! It really is! But I also know that means that whenever they tell you to jump, you’ll always answer, ‘how far?’ And I just can’t live my life like that. I need to settle down. I need a home.” He hadn’t known what he was going to say when he picked up the phone, but now that he’d begun speaking, the words flowed as if he had rehearsed them a thousand times before. Maybe he had and he simply hadn’t realized it. “I’m just getting comfortable here. I love my students, my head teacher and my department head are both amazing, and my family is close by. This is where I need to be right now.”

Her breath whispered quietly through the phone for several long moments. Finally, she answered, “Yeah, that’s fair. I was hoping you wouldn’t say that, but I can’t say I’m surprised.”

“Liv, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” she said, her voice only slightly shaky. “I’m the one who should be sorry.”

“Come on, now…”

“No, really. You’re the one who’s been following me around these past four years, and I knew it was too much to ask, but I did it anyway.”

He sighed. “I love that you’re dedicated to your job. I always loved that about you. And I came with you the last few times because I wanted to. You didn’t make me do anything. You know that.”

“And now you don’t want to.”

This, of course, was the rub. Pedro pulled his hair over his eyes, racking his brain to figure out how to explain. “It’s not so much that I don’t want to… as that I just can’t. It’s not the same.”

She shuddered a sigh, then began again with a renewed energy in her voice. “Okay. So, um, I guess we should figure out how to get our stuff to each other. If you wouldn’t mind waiting to ship my stuff ’til after I’m in Oz, that would —”

“Liv, come on. Let’s not do this.”

“Pedro, that’s what this is! Isn’t it? Or is this some horrible misunderstanding?”

He recognized the exasperated edge in her voice and knew this wasn’t a road he wanted to go down. “Can we… just… ugh, talk later? I’m tired, Liv. I’m so tired.”

“Fine. I’ll call you… I don’t know. Tomorrow? This weekend?”

“Whenever,” Pedro replied. “Just not tonight.”

“Fine. Talk to you later.”

“Bye.”

Pedro stared at his phone after she hung up. His first thought was to get shitfaced, but he still had to teach in the morning, so that would have to wait. He then thought about calling Ben, but Pedro’s finger hovered over the call button for a long minute before he decided it was too early in their friendship to start dumping his relationship problems on him.

He got up and paced the living room aimlessly for a few minutes before stopping in front of the bookshelf that held his DVDs. He pulled _Captain America_ off the shelf and stuck it in the player before flopping down on the couch, where he promptly fell asleep in front of the movie. When he woke the next morning, the screen was blue and the dawn outside was gray, and his empty flat was bleaker than ever.

 

* * *

 

“Can you believe we had a second day in a row of silent reading today in English?” Claudio asked.

Hero smiled to herself, noting that although Claudio had found the courage to ask her out, he still hadn’t managed to increase his repertoire of conversational topics. “Not really,” she answered thoughtfully. “Especially since I think we were some of the only people to actually get any reading done.”

“Oh, I didn’t get any reading done,” Claudio replied automatically.

“You didn’t? It looked to me like you were reading.” As she said this, she realized it implied that she’d been watching him, and she felt her cheeks flush.

“Well, I mean, I was trying,” he said, eyes downcast on the basket of rolls sitting on the table between them. “But I was, um… distracted. Nervous. You know?” At this, he met Hero’s eyes, and her stomach did a somersault.

“Yeah, I think I know. But you don’t need to be nervous, you know. I’m… I’m happy to be here. With you.”

Claudio’s normally demure smile broke into an all-out grin. “Really?”

“Yeah. Not to be weird, but I’ve been kind of wondering if you would ever ask me out.”

He chuckled. “You could have asked me out too, if you wanted.”

Hero shrugged. “Kinda thought it might do you some good to work up the courage. Besides, I’m in no hurry.”

“Well, thanks to you, that was a lot easier than I thought it would be.”

“In that case, your next challenge, should you choose to accept it,” she said in her best faux-serious voice, “is to talk to me about something other than school.” His face went even redder, but she plowed on. “Think you’re up to it?” She tapped into her own reserve of bravery and laid her hand on his next to the rolls.

He chuckled and took her hand in his. “I can certainly try.”

 


	10. Working Late

They found it in row L, caught between seats 12 and 13 — a very auspicious piece of paper. Dogberry reached out to grab it as Verges looked on, wide-eyed.

“What could it be?” Verges whispered.

“I don’t know, Verges, but there’s only one way to find out —”

“What are you doing?” an abrupt voice demanded.

Dogberry was too distracted by the piece of paper to respond, but luckily Verges was quick on her feet. “Oh, um, we’re… well, you know…” she explained.

The person who had stopped them didn’t look particularly intimidating (though they were older and wearing large combat boots), but Dogberry wasn’t sure if the auditorium was forbidden after school hours or not. After ascertaining that the paper was an old receipt holding used chewing gum, he straightened up and looked the other student straight in the eye. “We are here on a mission of great impale.” He pocketed the sticky receipt, just in case it proved to be impotent.

The combat-ready… _guy? girl?_ He wasn’t sure. The combat-ready _person_ folded their arms and raised a singular sculpted eyebrow. “Oh yeah?”

“We’re looking for mysterious goings-on!” Verges exclaimed.

Dogberry sighed. He liked his new friend’s enthusiasm but questioned her subtlety. This stranger could be anyone — their new arch-nemesis or something equally mellifluous. 

“Verges! Don’t spill all our secrets to him… her…” 

“Them,” supplied the newcomer.

Dogberry nodded at them. “Yes, thank you.” He turned back to Verges. “They could be auspicious! We can’t trust them!”

Granted, this person didn’t look particularly mellifluous — their t-shirt was decorated with mauve bunnies — but looks can be most perceiving and no true detective would allow themselves to be ensnared by appearances. Dogberry made a mental note to remind Verges of this later. 

“So, mysterious goings-on, eh?” The suspicious individual smiled widely, displaying an array of bright white teeth. “I love a good ghost story. Did you hear the one about the cat?”

Verges’ eyes expanded dramatically. “No!”

“All ghost stories are proposterious,” Dogberry reminded her. “We’re only interested in card, hold facts.”

“But all mysteries are preposterous until you solve them, aren’t they?” the stranger suggested.

And they had a point there. Dogberry shared a glance with Verges. Perhaps this was a person of special intriage.

“I’m Puck, by the way. I basically run this place.”

“Really? That’s awesome!” Verges declared.

“It’s good when there’s something interesting to watch.”

“No, I mean your name! That’s a beautiful name!”

“It is fairly magnanimous,” Dogberry grudgingly admitted.

“Oh, alright! Thanks,” Puck laughed and ran their hand through the strip of tight black curls on top of their head.

“You must get to preserve a lot from your perch up in the rafters. You could inform us of the commoners’ goings on,” Dogberry mused.

“What? Oh, you mean the control room?” Puck pointed to the lighting box at the top of the stairs. “Yeah, I see it all. Actually, you know they’ve been badgering me to take on some new recruits since I’m leaving next year. I could show you the ropes, if you wanted. Who knows — you might enjoy it.”

“You mean, we would control the theatre?” Verges asked in a hushed tone.

Puck smirked at her, revealing those teeth once again. “Well, you’d help control the lighting and sound, but sure.”

“Yes!” Dogberry barked. “Yes, we most hummingly accept your proposal, thanking you muchly.”

“Okay, cool. Swing by during lunch tomorrow and we can chat.”

“Thank you!” said Verges. “Thank you!”

“Yes and goodbye now.” Dogberry gave a respectful half-bow and Verges followed his suit. They both backed away down the stairs, which proved to be a mistake as Verges almost fell. Still, all in all Dogberry considered it a successful encounter.

 

* * *

 

Being single again was really going to take some getting used to.

Pedro liked to think that he was a rational person. He told himself that he had made a rational decision in calling it quits with Olivia. Rationally, Pedro knew that in a few months he would have sufficiently moved on not to think of texting Olivia every morning when he woke up. He knew that the crystallized image of her that he held in his mind would eventually fade into something less defined and easier to deal with.

And yet, he still missed her. They’d been together for four years. Pedro couldn’t just forget all the incidental things that he’d become so accustomed to in daily life. His mind would involuntarily flitter to memories of the way Olivia played with her hair when she was distracted or how she could never decide what to have for breakfast or the sound of her laughter, abrupt and delightful like an unexpected confetti bomb.

But more than anything, Pedro missed having a companion, someone who he could call a best friend and share everything with. 

It was hard for Pedro to remember the rational decision he’d made when he was sleepless in bed with a thumb hovering over Olivia’s speed dial number, but he forced himself to think of all the reasons why things were much better for both him and Olivia this way. 

It was just going to take some getting used to.

Pedro sat at his desk surrounded by papers. It was long after the other staff had left, but he still couldn’t focus. He blinked blearily into his empty mug and considered making the trip to the staff room for more coffee.

The only two thoughts in his mind were ‘this sucks’ and ‘how long will I feel like this?’ Although those weren’t unusual thoughts for him to have while marking, especially during finals, on this occasion the papers had nothing to do with it.

Pedro was about to make the decisive move of picking up his mug when out of the corner of his eye he saw something or someone skid past his classroom door. Pedro’s head flicked around, but whatever it had been was gone and the gloomy corridor was once again empty. 

Pedro ignored his slightly elevated heartbeat and, picking up his mug, got to his feet. He was halfway to the door when the figure once again skated past his doorway, and this time Pedro recognised it as once.

It was Balthazar Jones, dressed in his usual work attire — excluding, of course, his shoes.

Pedro took a moment to process this. Balthazar Jones, the talented music teacher who was universally adored by students and staff alike, also apparently slid down empty corridors in his socks when he thought no one else was in the building.

Pedro stepped out of his door with a smirk on his face, ready to confront this enigma once and for all. What he didn’t predict was that Balthazar would be mid-slide at the time.

Balthazar noticed Pedro too late and, in a hurried attempt to stop himself, instead managed to make the collision worse with an elbow into Pedro’s gut.

“Oof!” Pedro bent double and was only half successful in catching Balthazar by the cardigan while not dropping his mug.

“Ah!” Balthazar gave a muted cry and he quickly pushed himself to his feet. “Uh, sorry.” He glanced up to Pedro and then away again. “Sorry.”

Pedro laughed, rubbing his torso. “What the hell are you doing?”

“Oh, um, my corridor isn’t long enough.”

“You know that explains nothing, right?”

Balthazar twiddled his toes inside his mustard yellow socks. “It’s good for stress relief. Ursula and I used to —”

“— have regular sock sliding sessions?” Pedro completed with a teasing smile. “You know, I really feel like I have to meet this Ursula that everyone goes on about. I mean, the hijinks that Ben tells me about are enough to make anyone curious.”

“Yeah, yeah, she’s pretty great.” Balthazar’s eyes shifted away and Pedro felt the inevitable brush-off coming.

In order to save face, Pedro decided not to drag out the encounter. “Well, I’d better go fill up,” he said, holding up his mug. “Coffee is my treatment for stress. Probably not as effective but, you know. Some sort of proverb about beggars.”

Before Pedro could turn away, though, he was stopped by an offer that he could not have anticipated ten minutes earlier.

“Do you want to have a sock slide?” Balthazar asked him. “You know, it’s an underrated pastime. It’ll cheer you up.”

Pedro’s smile drooped at the corners with this reminder of his unhappiness. “Yeah, I don’t know about that, but thanks.” He was a bit annoyed that Ben had told Balthazar about the break-up, and decided to be more careful with what he told Ben about his personal life from now on. “I think these things just take time to deal with.”

The blank confusion on Balthazar’s face was enough to make it immediately apparent to Pedro that he had no idea about his break-up with Olivia. 

“My girlfriend and I just split up,” Pedro hastily explained. “Sorry, I thought Ben must have said something, though now I think of it I don’t know why he would...”

“Nah, he didn’t,” Balthazar muttered and ran a hand through his hair. He then looked up at Pedro with such startling empathy in his eyes that Pedro felt simultaneously better and worse. “Sorry, mate. That sucks.”

“Yeah, my thoughts exactly.” 

“Do you want to… talk about it?” 

Pedro appreciated the offer, but he didn’t particularly want to bare his soul to this relative stranger. It didn’t escape Pedro’s attention that this was the most Balthazar had ever spoken to him. Instead, he shook his head. “It is what it is. It was amicable. It’s just weird, I suppose.”

Balthazar looked pensive for a moment. Pedro was ready to resume his mission for more caffeine when Balthazar surprised him again. “You definitely need cheering up then. I mean, sock slides are the only proven way of getting over someone.”

Pedro grinned. “Really? Is that right?”

“Yeah, I think I read it somewhere,” Balthazar said with a shrug. “Come on.”

Pedro hesitated for a moment, but slipped out of his black nubuck oxford shoes. His plucked and greying socks seemed rather shoddy next to Balthazar’s yellow pair with a subtle diamond pattern. “Do you have any expert tips?”

“Well, yeah, it’s all about the entry speed. Aim for the middle of the corridor where it’s most slippy.”

“You know your stuff,” Pedro commented.

“I’m multi-talented.”

“Clearly.” Pedro prepared himself as if he were about to run an important race and was pleased to see a smirk on Balthazar’s face. He leapt forwards, taking a few powerful steps and then allowing his feet to glide smoothly down the corridor. Pedro felt an exhilarating rush of adrenaline as lockers and classroom doors whipped past him, blurring together. He managed to come to a stop without falling over, which he was grateful for. He turned around to Balthazar with a flushed smile. “That was good, don’t you think? For a beginner?”

“Yeah, yeah!” Balthazar agreed. “It was alright!” 

This was the wrong thing to say to someone as competitive as Pedro. “Alright?” he challenged. “ _Alright?_ Show me how it’s done then, if you’re such a master.”

“I am a master.”

“Prove it, then.”

And so began a surprisingly zealous session of sock slides. Balthazar proved himself by sliding much further than Pedro each time, which only made Pedro more determined not to be outdone.

“You’re going down next time, Jones, you just watch!” 

Balthazar merely smiled and shrugged as they prepared for another slide back toward Pedro’s classroom.

Pedro bounced on his heels a few times and took off. He managed his longest slide yet. “Beat that!” he shouted back down the hall.

Balthazar pulled the sleeves of his cardigan over his hands, took several quick steps, and slid easily forward. He ended up half a meter beyond where Pedro had stopped.

“Damn, bro! How the hell do you do that?”

“Have you ever surfed?” asked Balthazar, moving to stand next to him.

“Yeah, but not really.”

“It’s kinda like that. You’ve got to put a little more weight on your back foot than you think. If you put too much weight on your front foot you’ll slow down.” 

“All right, here we go then.” Pedro ran forwards, slid, tripped over his own feet and fell spectacularly onto the corridor floor. “That was your fault!” 

Balthazar was too busy laughing to answer.

It was half an hour later when a breathless Pedro realised that it was the first time in a week he’d had fun.

“Thanks mate,” he said to Balthazar, clapping him on the back. “Weirdly, that might have been just what I needed.”

“No — no trouble.” Balthazar looked at him with cheeks slightly flushed from the exercise. “Um, I should probably head out. I’m meant to be packing.”

“Are you going somewhere for the break?” Pedro asked.

“Nah, I’m moving.”

“Moving house?” Pedro groaned dramatically. “I still have boxes to unpack from when _I_ moved, and that was months ago. Good luck with that, mate.”

“Yeah, thanks,” Balthazar said, and he turned to leave. Pedro was starting to look around the edges of the hallway for his long-since discarded coffee mug, when Balthazar unexpectedly spoke again, several meters down the hall. “Actually, a few people from school were going to come help me pack during the holidays. I don’t know if you wanted to — it’s more like a hang out type thing… Ben’s coming.”

“Yes!” Pedro really did try not to agree too enthusiastically, but this was his first social invitation from anyone at Messina aside from Ben. “I’m not quite over the trauma of my own moving, but I’m sure it would be better with beer and friends. Here, let me give you my number.”

Perhaps it had been somewhat presumptuous to throw the f-word in there, but this encounter had proved to Pedro what he’d suspected since the beginning of the year — that Balthazar was precisely the type of person he’d love to be friends with. Pedro hadn’t had any specific rationale behind this belief, aside from the fact that Balthazar was talented and had cute hair, but he was glad to be proven right all the same.

Pedro was also glad that he hadn’t spent the evening wallowing in his own self-pity. In fact, he felt almost lighthearted as he went back into his classroom to collect his belongings. As he left, he decided it was time to invest in some better socks, just in case.

 

* * *

 

“What were they doing?” Verges hissed to Dogberry.

“I don’t rightly know,” Dogberry admitted, “but it certainly was unuseable.”

After leaving the auditorium, the two of them had gone up to the first floor to discover Mr. Jones and Mr. Donaldson engaged in something quite unexpected. Dogberry, identifying an opportunity for divestigation, had pulled Verges behind the far end of a bay of lockers, staking out a vantage point.

When the two teachers had parted ways, Dogberry and Verges remained crouching behind the lockers, where they exchanged theories as to why Mr. Jones and Mr. Donaldson might have found it necessary to run up and down the corridor in their socks for so long.

“We’ve already established that Mr. Donaldson is a most auspicious character,” said Dogberry. “He seems to be ensnarling Mr. Jones into some strange ritual.”

Verges gasped. “But we like Mr. Jones!”

“Of course we do.”

“He’s the only other one that’s started calling me Verges.”

“Exactly.” Dogberry sighed and rubbed his forehead with his fingertips. Sometimes he found this helped him to think beyond the usual human mental capacitate. “Unless this goes beyond Mr. Donaldson. Unless this is something else altogether.”

“Like a conspiracy? That sounds important!”

“It _is_ important,” Dogberry confirmed, and then he leaned closer to Verges to tell her the most confidential details. “Last week I overheard Margary-Sue, the cook with the squinty eye, telling someone about how the ‘powers at bee’ have cut the cleaning budget. What exactly might she have meant by that?”

“That the school will be less clean?” Verges suggested.

Dogberry barely repressed a sigh of impatience. “But who are these ‘powers’? Why do they have bees? And isn’t it instantaneous that they seem to be so influential just as this Mr. Donaldson has arrived on the scene? The same Mr. Donaldson that seems to be forcing Mr. Jones into cleaning the floor _with his socks?_ ”

Verges looked satisfyingly shocked. “But that is _dastardly_.”

“Quite.” Dogberry felt particularly pleased with his own cunning. “I think we will have to keep a closer eye on this so-called ‘Mr. Donaldson’.”

“Yes. He obviously has _something_ in mind for Mr. Jones.”

“Indeed...”


	11. Moving Day

Just as the cab was about to round the corner to Balthazar’s flat, Ursula saw him — Pedro Donaldson. At least she was fairly certain that’s who it was; with hair like that, who else could it be? He was running a hand through the infamous hair and frowning at the buildings in front of him on the street, just the way someone would do if they were lost. Just the way everyone always did the first time they tried to get to Balthazar’s flat.

The cab driver dropped Ursula off by the main entrance to the complex. Ursula paid her fare, making sure to include a generous tip (she made a point of tipping particularly well now that she had the means to do so), and stepped out onto the sidewalk. She briefly considered going straight in. She could see his buzzer on the panel beside the door with its label marked “2A: T. KAAHURANGI/B. JONES,” and the familiar sight made her anxious to see her friend again. But her curiosity was piqued by possibly-Pedro-Donaldson, presumably still wandering around just out of sight.

Really, it was only common courtesy to help him find the right place.

Ursula walked to the street corner and peered around the edge of the building. There he was, impatiently consulting his phone, then glaring at the buildings in front of him, as if doing so would force the right one to reveal itself.

“Are you lost?” Ursula asked, approaching him.

He looked up, and his frustrated expression melted instantly into a friendly smile. “Yeah, actually, could you help me out? I need to find this address.” He held out his phone for her to see, and Ursula had to hold back a triumphant grin at the sight of the note on the screen:

**balthazar  
569 messina hill dr apt 2a**

“Oh yeah,” Ursula said, “it’s this building right here.”

“But I don’t see —”

“The _address_ is on Messina Hill, but the entrance is actually just around the corner on Jacobs.”

“Great, thanks!” he said. “Do you live there too?””

Ursula smirked. “No, I’m just visiting a friend.” She considered keeping the pretense up for a little longer, but decided it was time to show her hand. “The same friend as you, actually.”

His eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Oh, so you’re —”

“Ursula Kuang.” She held out her hand. “Pleasure to meet you.”

He hesitated, but then smiled and shook her hand. “Pedro Donaldson. Pleasure’s all mine.”

 

* * *

 

Balthazar frowned at the clutter of books and papers that still covered his desk. He should’ve known better than to put off packing up his studio until the last moment. Later than the last moment, at this point.

Ben had already arrived half an hour early, bearing a hand truck a bottle of champagne for later, and the news that Bea couldn’t come for another few hours due to a hastily scheduled meeting with the governors.

Pedro and Ursula were both due any minute and Balthazar did not feel prepared. He wasn’t even completely sure why he’d invited Pedro today. Sure, they’d had fun sock sliding, and Pedro had always been very friendly, but he still wondered if it was too early in the friendship to ask such a large favour as helping him move.

Thankfully, Ben had been eager to begin helping right away, so after leaving him to retrieve some of the objects stored on the highest shelves in the kitchen, Balthazar excused himself and returned to his study.

He’d had ambitious plans of filing all of these scattered papers away in an organized fashion for easier retrieval later on. He’d even bought special filing boxes and folders for the purpose. But somehow, the contents of his desk seemed weightier, more cumbersome, more _difficult_ than everything else.

Balthazar gritted his teeth and grabbed a stack of papers, then dropped them in one of the filing boxes. Next went a couple of books, then more papers — whatever was closest at hand on the desk. Organising would have to come later (though he knew himself well enough to suspect that it probably never would).

He’d made it only half way through when he was interrupted by the sound of a buzzer. “Shit,” he muttered, then raised his voice. “Hey Ben, could you buzz them through?”

“Will do!”

Balthazar hastily piled a few more handfuls of papers into the box. He had half a minute or so between when a visitor was buzzed through at the front door to the complex and when they arrived at the door to the flat, and he’d lived here long enough to have a pretty good feeling for what could be accomplished by way of hasty cleaning up in that time.

The last thing he managed to toss into the box was a stack of scripts and score drafts from that unfinished musical he’d worked on with Tony. His stomach twinged uncomfortably. If anything, he would’ve preferred to bury this underneath something innocuous like maybe the Handel chorus he’d printed off of IMSLP for Junior Choir, but he heard a commotion at the door and knew there was no time.

Before he could see the door, Balthazar heard a squeak, followed by Ben’s singsong voice, “SHE’S HERE! SHE’S HERE! URSULA IS HERE!”

Balthazar rounded the corner and caught a glimpse of the fluttering of Ursula’s skirt as Ben swung her around in a hug-and-twirl maneuver. Ursula laughed as Ben set her down, then Balthazar went in to hug her as well (he opted out of the hug-and-twirl).

“Pedro! Buddy! You didn’t tell me you’d already met Ursula!” Ben’s greeting alerted Balthazar to another presence in the room.

Over Ursula’s shoulder, Balthazar caught just a glimpse of a sad smile playing on Pedro’s face, before he brightened in response to Ben’s greeting.

“We met just now, actually, on the way in,” Pedro explained as Ben shook his hand, then thought better of it and pulled him into a hug. “Good to see you, mate. How’s your holiday been?”

“Not bad, just helping this guy pack up his stuff.” Ben thumbed over his shoulder at Balthazar.

“Yeah, thanks, man,” Balthazar said, parting from Ursula with a final squeeze. ”Couldn’t do this without your help.”

“Well, don’t be shy!” Ben said, waving Balthazar over impatiently. “Pedro here needs a hug too!”

Balthazar obligingly advanced toward Pedro, feeling a sudden tingling in his fingertips, a rush of warmth to his face.

It turned out that Pedro gave fantastic hugs, warm and solid and a bit on the longer end of just perfect. Balthazar found himself relaxing into the hug, allowing it to linger for a moment, but he soon remembered himself and stepped back, directing a mumbled “glad you could make it” at the floor before turning away…

...and nearly running into Ursula.

Ursula put a hand on Balthazar’s arm to steady him. She looked like she was trying very hard not to laugh, but to her credit, she didn’t make the teasing remark he knew she was capable of. Instead, she asked, “So what are we moving first?”

“Oh, um...” Honestly, Balthazar wasn’t really sure.

“Start with the big stuff?” Pedro offered. “How about that couch?”

“Good idea!” Ursula agreed. “It’s too big to fit in the elevator, so it’ll have to go down the stairs. Better to get that done now while we’ve still got the energy.”

“Right then,” Ben said, rubbing his hands together, “let’s get started!”

The couch was just as cumbersome as Balthazar remembered from the last move. Ursula’s camera-trained eye for angles turned out to be invaluable as she figured out just how to position the hulking padded mass so it could pass through the door and into the narrow hallway, leaving door, walls, and couch all completely unscathed. From there, it was (thankfully) a straight shot through the hallway, down a single flight of stairs, and out the front door.

Once they nestled the couch securely in the van, they decided the best plan was to fill the rest of the space around it with boxes, and that the best way to accomplish this was with sort of an assembly line setup. Since it was Balthazar’s stuff, he ended up stationed in the flat, choosing which boxes would go, and helping Ben load them onto the hand truck. Ben then brought them out to the van, where Pedro and Ursula were waiting to help pack the boxes away.

This situation suited Balthazar well. He was able to use his alone time between Ben’s trips to pack up a few errant kitchen things, and he enjoyed the friendly banter he shared with Ben as they piled boxes onto the hand truck.

Having finished with the kitchen, Balthazar was on the point of trying to think of what he could do next between Ben-visits, when someone appeared in the doorway who was not Ben.

“Hey,” Pedro said. “Ben said he was getting tired, so I’m taking over the hand truck duties.”

Balthazar frowned. Ben? Tired? He’d seemed his usual energetic self on his last trip up…

“Hope you’re not too disappointed,” Pedro continued with a nervous laugh.

“No!” Balthazar said, realising the misunderstanding. “No, I just…”

Pedro raised a curious eyebrow, waiting for an explanation, but Balthazar suddenly couldn’t think of what to say.

“Nevermind,” he muttered, shaking his head.

“Oh,” Pedro said, disappointed. “Well, why don’t we take care of some of these boxes?”

“Yeah, sure.”

Balthazar picked up a box, but before he made it back to the hand truck, Pedro took it out of his hands. For a brief moment in the transfer of the box, Pedro’s hands covered Balthazar’s, then slid off.

Balthazar turned away quickly to get another box, trying to ignore the flutter in his stomach. With Ben, he’d gotten into the habit of both of them carrying boxes independently, and he hadn’t realized that Pedro favoured the carry-and-pass method. But that method worked too, it was just unexpected. Balthazar would have to be more careful of the placement of his hands as he passed the boxes, that’s all. Soon enough the hand truck was loaded, and Pedro tipped it onto its wheels and left without a word.

If Pedro’s unexpected appearance hadn’t distracted him, Balthazar might have remembered that he’d meant to go back into his study to pack the rest of the stuff on his desk. Instead, he took a seat on the nearest chair and stared absently into space. He felt out of place, and he couldn’t quite pinpoint why. Maybe it was because he no longer had his corner of the couch to sit on.

Pedro soon returned, saying that after this load, they’d have a full van and could drive over to the new apartment. Balthazar nodded and they loaded up the hand truck, again without talking, and left the apartment together. Balthazar kept stealing glances up at Pedro on the way through the hall and down the elevator. He noticed that Pedro’s hair was plastered to his forehead, and his Sheep, Dog & Wolf t-shirt clung to his body in ways that left little to the imagination.

_Stop looking,_ he reprimanded himself. Still, as the elevator made its slow descent, Balthazar could feel something spreading in the pit of his stomach, a potential energy that he knew he shouldn’t investigate. But it was sort of like prodding at an achy tooth with your tongue — it was difficult to resist. He sneaked another glance up at Pedro, and caught Pedro looking back. Something electric pulsed through him, then subsided into a grey tingling as he trained his eyes on the elevator doors.

This was bad.

The moment the elevator doors began to open, Balthazar slipped through them and hurried outside without looking back.

Ben and Ursula stood from where they sat on the van’s rear bumper. Ben frowned. “Where’s Pedro?”

“Um, he’s coming.”

Once Pedro came out with the hand truck, they made quick work of the rest of the boxes.

“Right then,” Ben said. “Now we just need to get all of this to the new place! So if Balthy’s driving the van, then —”

“Actually, could I — could I _not_ drive the van?” Balthazar asked. He hated driving large vehicles. Driving the van from the rental place yesterday had been bad enough; he’d been on the edge of a panic attack the whole time. He wasn’t keen on repeating the experience.

“I’ll drive,” Pedro offered.

“Okay!” Ben said. “So _Pedro_ will drive the van; Balthy, you can go with him, and Ursula and I will pick up Bea in my car!” He clapped his hands together and grinned in a ‘glad that’s sorted’ kind of way, and left with Ursula before Balthazar had a chance to protest.

Balthazar knew what Ben was up to — more of his friend-matchmaking — but he and Pedro _were_ friends now, so really, it was starting to get excessive.

“Hey, d’you have the keys?” Pedro asked.

“Oh, um — just let me…” Balthazar searched his pockets and came up with the keys in question. “Here.” He tossed them to Pedro.

“Thanks, bro.”

The first minute or so passed in silence, broken only by the indifferent voice of Pedro’s GPS.

“You know,” Pedro said at length, “back in university, I could fit everything I owned in my car — tiny two-door Corolla. It was packed to the gills, but it all fit.” He smiled ruefully at the road in front of him. “Hard to imagine now, isn’t it?”

Balthazar shrugged. “I actually brought quite a lot of stuff to university.”

“Really?”

“Yeah…. One of the hazards of being a musician.”

“How do you mean?”

“Well, of course I had to take my three guitars — two acoustic and an electric — my ukulele, my electric piano, violin, viola, saxophone, drums, bunch of little percussion instruments, too — um, I might’ve had a flute?” Balthazar paused to think. “What else was there?”

Pedro laughed. “I think I get the picture.”

“Had to leave my cello at home…”

“So are any of these instruments back there now?” Pedro asked, gesturing at the back of the van.

“Nah, I’ll be moving most of that stuff in my car tomorrow.”

Pedro affected a stricken expression. “What, don’t you trust me?”

Balthazar shook his head emphatically. “I don’t trust _anyone_ with my instruments, not even my boyf—” He caught himself. “I mean…” He swallowed and turned to stare out the window.

There was another extended silence — and again, Pedro was the one to break it.

“It’s a weird transition, isn’t it?” he mused. “I catch myself casually referring to Olivia all the time. It’s so strange. She was such a big part of my life, but now she isn’t.”

Balthazar nodded uncertainly, still facing the window.

_“In one hundred meters,”_ the GPS helpfully interrupted, _“your destination is on the right.”_

“Okay…” Pedro said, scanning the buildings on the right side of the street, “where are we going?”

“That one, right there,” Balthazar said, pointing, “Third one in.”

“Oh yeah, I see the others,” Pedro observed as he backed into the parking spot in front of the flat far more gracefully than Balthazar thought possible, or fair. “A townhouse! That should make our job easier.”

“Yeah,” Balthazar agreed unenthusiastically, eyeing said front door warily through the rear-view mirror. Of course, Pedro was right — moving stuff in would be easier without a flight of stairs and several meters of hallway to traverse — but this exposed front door was actually Balthazar’s least favorite aspect of the flat. He liked having a buffer between his living space and the outside world, and he would miss that luxury.

But on the other hand, this place was the right size for him (relatively small, but still with two bedrooms so he could have a studio), had in-unit washer-dryer, and was within walking distance from school. Most importantly, it didn’t remind him of Tony at every turn, so he’d happily put up with a few imperfections.

Balthazar got out of the van and found Beatrice waiting on the grass with a smile and a hug.

“So Ben told me you had a meeting?” Balthazar asked. “How’d that go?”

Bea made a face. “Nope,” she said, “no shop talk allowed. The governors have taken enough of my holiday away from me, but now I’ve escaped, I’m not even going to _think_ about school until at least next Thursday.”

Behind her, Ben mouthed, “Not likely.”

Balthazar smirked.

Bea cast a suspicious glance over her shoulder, then turned back to Balthazar. “What did he just say?” she asked, jabbing her thumb back at Ben.

Ben’s eyes widened and he shook his head frantically.

“Nothing,” Balthazar hedged. Sometimes it was better not to get involved. “Why don’t we take care of this stuff, then we can go to lunch?”

“Yes,” Bea agreed emphatically. “All that arguing with those fools has me starved.”

“There’s the pizza place down the street,” Balthazar suggested. “Why don’t we go there?”

“That sounds like a great idea,” Bea said.

“Pizza is _always_ a great idea,” Pedro chimed in.

The prospect of pizza turned out to be an effective motivator. Whenever one of them seemed to be getting tired or struggling with the weight of a box, someone else (usually Bea or Pedro), would say, “Hang in there. Don’t forget — there’s pizza after this!” When it came time to move the couch, Bea led them forth with the battle cry, “Do it for the pizza!”

“PIZZAAAA!” Pedro bellowed in response, as they all heaved the couch aloft. In no time, they had the couch stationed against the wall of the new place, and they were off, walking toward their eagerly anticipated pizza lunch.

Luciana’s Pizza was a popular destination for Messina High students, so Balthazar wasn’t surprised to see many familiar faces as they entered. Most of them seemed unsure of how to react to seeing teachers outside of school, in broad daylight, dressed in casual clothes and eating pizza. Ursula got a few smiles and waves (one particularly brave young woman called out, “We miss you, Ms. Kuang!”), but for the most part, after they shot a few sidelong glances and whispered among themselves, the students adopted a policy of pretending the intruders weren’t there.

“It’s all my fault,” Bea said as she picked olives off her pizza and put them on Ben’s plate. “They’d probably be all over you guys if the hard-ass headteacher wasn’t here.”

“That’s not true,” Ben countered, popping one of Bea’s discarded olives in his mouth. “They love you.”

“No point in lying, Benedick.” She shrugged. “It is what it is. It’s not my job to make them like me.” She took a large bite of her pizza, then continued speaking with her mouth full. “So back to Balthy’s old place after this?”

“Yeah,” Balthazar replied, “We need to —”

“Ms. Kuang!” Ursula was ambush-hugged from behind, and Balthazar recognized the wide, toothy grin of Puck the stage manager.

“Puck!” Ursula turned in her seat to face her former protege. “How _are_ you? How’s the auditorium — still in one piece?”

Puck sobered as they stood upright. “Not much going on for there to be any danger of that, unfortunately,” they said with a roll of the eyes. “Even the ghost cat is getting bored.”

Ursula sighed. “I really wish there was more for you to do — your last year and everything.”

At that, Puck’s grin returned. “Speaking of my last year, I’ve taken on some apprentices!”

“Ooh! Who are they?”

“Couple of year 9s, really into solving mysteries.” Puck cackled. “I’m going to have so much fun with them!”

Ursula’s eyebrows knit together in worry over her continued smile. “Try not to traumatise them too much?”

“No worries, Ms. Kuang,” Puck said, departing with a wave. “I’ll play nice!”

“I’ll know if you don’t,” Ursula called after them, still smiling. “I have my ways!”

Her smile faded as she turned back to the table. “I don’t know how much point there will be in having _two_ stage managers next year if there’s still no drama program…”

“Ursula, you know my hands are tied on this,” Bea said with a frown. “I’d fund drama in a heartbeat if I could, but it really isn’t up to me.”

Ursula nodded with what probably seemed to everyone else to be an air of resignation, but Balthazar could detect a set of her jaw, a glint in her eye that said she’d find a way to bring the drama program back if she could. And Balthazar knew from experience that Ursula could do just about anything.

There was no mention of the drama program for the rest of the meal. Balthazar felt himself beginning to relax. The pizza was good, and the company was even better. Whenever they seemed in danger of talking about school-related things, Bea protested loudly that shop talk was not allowed, and steered the conversation in a more light-hearted direction. They talked of their hobbies and memories of their favorite vacations and the latest episode of Game of Thrones. Finally, when nothing was left of their pizza but a few crusts on people’s plates, they decided they’d better head back.

On the walk back to Balthazar’s new flat, they got on the subject of ridiculous things they’d done while drunk at university. Bea, Ben, and Pedro got into a competition of sorts, sharing increasingly outrageous stories, until Pedro told the one about the time he went to a party, forgetting he was supposed to have Easter brunch with his parents the next day. He drank an entire bottle of food colouring on a dare, and… well, long story short, he ended up puking bright pink all over his omelette at brunch.

“My poor brother hasn’t brought friends to any family gatherings since!”

Balthazar snorted.

“Can’t beat that,” Bea chuckled as beside her, Ben laughed so hard he started wheezing.

Ursula looked at Balthazar and raised an eyebrow. Balthazar immediately picked up on what she meant.

“Actually,” he said. “I’ve got you all beat.”

Pedro turned to Balthazar with an expectant grin, which he had to admit was a little distracting.

“Well…” he began, unsure of himself now. “This one time I woke up completely naked at the top of a ferris wheel with no memory of how I got there.”

Pedro let out a loud bark of laughter, an expression of pure delight spreading across his face, which urged Balthazar to continue.

“I’m told that at one point during the party I was at, I declared myself the Circus King and ran out the door, and then, five hours later —”

“I had to go collect him,” Ursula finished.

Pedro laughed again. “That is the best story I’ve ever heard!”

“I was wrong. Balthazar wins!” Bea declared.

They were all laughing so hard, nobody noticed they’d gone two doors beyond Balthazar’s flat. It was Ursula who finally pointed out that the moving van was now several meters behind them. They decided on using the same ride-sharing arrangement as before to get back to Balthazar’s old flat for another load.

Pedro and Balthazar made it back first, and for a moment, they just stood by the front door, surveying the boxes. Balthazar was saved from having to think of something to say when Pedro asked where the bathroom was.

“Uh, yeah, it’s just down that hallway, second door on the left,” Balthazar said, pointing.

“Thanks, man.”

Balthazar barely had time to take stock of what remained before the rest of the crew arrived, ready for another round of packing. This time, Balthazar would have to think a little harder about what he was keeping for the new flat, and what was going to the op shop, since he was downsizing considerably with this move.

“Well, that chair’s going,” Balthazar said, pointing to the plush chair he’d always found most comfortable. It also turned out to be pretty light, so Ben and Bea volunteered to take it down while Ursula stayed to sort through some boxes.

“Is this going in the van, then?” she asked, gesturing to a box as Ben and Bea argued over how best to get the chair through the door (“No, you’ve just got to _tilt_ it!”).

Balthazar opened his mouth to answer, when something caught his ear. Someone was playing on the piano in his studio… obviously not very _well_ , just a melody raggedly plunked out with several false starts and wrong notes. It sounded familiar. Why did it sound familiar?

“Balthy?” Ursula asked.

“Sorry,” Balthazar blinked and returned to reality. “No, that box is going to the op shop.”

“Okay, what about this one?”

Balthazar had to force his brain away from trying to decipher the butchered melody emanating from the studio in order to pay attention to where Ursula was pointing. “Yeah,” he said at length, “that one goes in. Excuse me a sec, I just need to...” He gestured vaguely and headed toward the studio, his brain finally connecting the dots…

_Heigh ho_ (wrong note) _, sing heigh_ (wrong note) _ho,  
Unto the_ (wrong note — whoever was playing seemed to realise this and started the phrase over)  
_Unto the_ (that’s right) _green holly…_

He had been so intent on deciphering the melody and mentally correcting the errors that it took him until now to realise…

Someone was in his studio.

Someone had found the sheet music to that song, along with…

Oh no. _Ohhhh no._

Head buzzing, stomach jumbled up with emotions he hadn’t yet fully examined, he peered through the studio doorway. He realised with a jolt to his already frazzled nerves that it was Pedro at the piano — Pedro, frowning alternately at the sheet of hand-written music he’d set on the stand and at his fingers as they stumbled inelegantly over the keys.

Balthazar needed to go. He needed to go and find a box to load into the van so he could pretend he’d never seen this. He was in the process of doing just that, when in his confusion, he walked right into the doorframe.

_Shit_.

“Hey! Balthazar!”

Balthazar could hear the grin in Pedro’s voice before he turned to see it on his face. It was really something to behold, the way a smile could take over his whole face. “You wrote this?” he asked.

Balthazar cleared his throat and nodded at the ground.

“I recognized the text, of course — _As You Like It_ is one of my favorites. ‘Course I’m shit at playing...” Pedro raised his eyebrows expectantly.

Balthazar understood what Pedro was getting at. “You — you want me to play it?”

Pedro nodded enthusiastically and scooted over on the piano bench.

This was probably a bad idea. There was a potent cocktail of old and new feelings churning around in his stomach that only got worse as he approached the piano bench and sat down, close enough that his arm kept brushing against Pedro’s. Yes, this was definitely a bad idea, but there was just something in the admiring look in Pedro’s eye…

After this, he’d need to learn to be more careful.

His fingers easily found the familiar chords and he began to sing.

_Blow, blow thou winter wind,_  
_Thou art not so unkind_  
 _As man’s ingratitude…_

Balthazar kept his eyes on the keys. He didn’t dare look up. He tried to lose himself in the moody, dorian-mode harmonies in a vain attempt to escape the conflict between the solid presence of Pedro beside him and the imagined presence of Tony in his customary spot leaning against the piano.

_Most friendship is feigning, most loving mere folly:_  
_Then heigh-ho, the holly!_  
 _This life is most jolly._

He played a few more bars, then trailed off. “Well, that’s the first verse, anyway…”

“Dude! That’s amazing!”

Balthazar blushed and shrugged. “It’s not a bad setting, I guess.”

“No, seriously, the tone of the words just came through so clearly — I could totally see this in a production of _As You Like It_. You should see if you can make that happen, bro.”

“Well, this is actually part of a musical.” The words were out of Balthazar’s mouth before he realised he shouldn’t have said them. “I mean it’s not — it’s not finished. It’s not even that good —”

“It’s gotta be fantastic if this song is any indication,” Pedro said. And there it was again — that admiring smile. “You’ll have to tell me when you do finish.”

“Yeah, sure,” Balthazar said automatically, secretly hoping this was the last they’d ever speak of it.

“Anyway, why didn’t you tell me you had this piano here? We’re definitely gonna have to move this today.”

“Oh! Uh…” Balthazar blinked at the old spinet in front of him. Honestly, he’d forgotten it had to be moved. It just felt so much like part of the flat, like the closets or the shelving in the bathroom.

“Look, man, I know how you are about your instruments, but this is more than a one-person job.” Pedro stood and started sizing the piano up. “It’s got wheels on. That’ll make things easier. And it should fit in the elevator, no problem… I’ll go get Ben. We should get this in the van now before it gets too full.”

Pedro left the room. Balthazar was still sitting in front of the piano, staring at the song that he’d scrawled across the staves of the manuscript paper in a fit of inspiration over a year ago. He’d lied when he told Pedro the musical wasn’t any good. It _was_ good. Even Tony had been happy with what they’d done, and that was a rare occurrence. A couple more songs, some polishing up, and it would have been ready for getting some friends together, doing a casting, and making a show of it.

Not that any of that mattered _now_.

Balthazar could hear Ben and Pedro’s loud voices coming down the hallway, so he snapped the pages up and set them back in the box they came from.

“I’ll deal with you later,” he said sternly.

 

* * *

 

“See ya, Balth!” Ben said cheerily on his way out. “I know we didn’t get to that champagne, so we’ll just have to crack it open when you have your housewarming party.”

“Tell us if you need any help unpacking,” Bea said. “You know, it’s term break, so we’ve got nothing much to do!”

Pedro lingered a bit as Bea followed Ben out the door. “Hey, man,” he said, “be sure to keep me posted on that musical. I’m serious — I really wanna see how it turns out.”

Across the room, Ursula narrowed her eyes, observing Balthazar’s visible discomfort. How did Pedro know about the musical? Ursula felt sure that Balthazar wouldn’t have opened up about it willingly — not to someone he’d known for so short a time, and certainly not to someone he’d supposedly disliked for much of that time.

“Uh, yeah, sure,” Balthazar said quickly, averting his eyes. Then he looked up at Pedro again. A long moment passed, and they were still looking at each other. Ursula was pretty sure both of them had forgotten she was in the room.

“Guess I’ll see you back at school, yeah?” Pedro said with the air of one who did not want to wait that long.

“Yeah, see you then,” Balthazar replied with a little wave.

Pedro left and Balthazar closed the door behind him. The room seemed to tense up, then Balthazar let out a long, slow breath. He turned, surveying the box-strewn room with tired eyes that eventually came to rest on Ursula. He started. As she had suspected, he’d forgotten she was there.

“Sorry, I —” He stopped and ran a hand through his hair. “He, um — he found some of my stuff from the musical in my studio… Turns out he’s a big fan of _As You Like It_?” He laughed nervously.

“Ah,” Ursula responded. She could take this opportunity to make a pointed comment about how well he seemed to be getting on with this supposedly pretentious new teacher he’d complained to her about just weeks ago. She _could_ do that, but she doubted it would be wise. She knew that the more she prodded him on the subject, the less likely he’d be to confide in her about it if he ever needed to…

…and she had the feeling he _would_ need to.

“Hey, do you want to grab some dinner?” Ursula suggested. “How about The Hideaway Cafe?”

“Yeah, sounds good,” he agreed, picking up his jacket. “My treat.”

“You paid for lunch!” Ursula protested, following him out the door. “I can cover it this time.”

“After you spent the whole day lugging boxes for me? Not likely.”

“Fine, if you insist,” Ursula rolled her eyes in mock frustration, but as he ducked down to get into the driver’s seat of his car, she allowed herself a smile.

She had the greatest best friend in the world.


	12. Lunch Time

The first rec league football match after the start of term was, frankly, shit. No matter how much he talked big, Ben knew he wasn’t the best player on their team. So when he was the only one to score a goal during the whole match, he could no longer ignore that something was wrong with Pedro, who was usually their star player. It wasn’t that Pedro played horribly, he was just far from his usual standard. His passes consistently flew wide, which cost them possession of the ball more than once, and his reactions to the other players just seemed sluggish.

Ben slung his arm over Pedro’s shoulder as they walked through the car park. “Mate, you gotta get your head in the game.”

Pedro groaned but he didn’t throw off Ben’s arm. “Just a lot on my mind, is all.”

“Come on. You’re never this out of it,” said Ben as they reached Pedro’s car.

“I know, I just...” Pedro leaned his back against the car door and rubbed his eyes. He looked exhausted. “I packed up Olivia’s stuff yesterday. I gotta go to the post office today to ship it to her.”

“Ah ha,” Ben nodded knowingly. “Pedro, my friend. I’ll tell you something that I used to tell myself: Single? Muchos good. Relationships? Fucking terrible.”

“Not helping, Ben.”

“Why don’t you get yourself back out there, huh?” He slapped Pedro on the shoulder. “Handsome guy like you, shouldn’t be a problem!”

Pedro shook his head. “I can’t do rebound relationships. I found that out the hard way with Sam.”

“What happened?”

“Got too attached too quickly. I think he was looking for a more casual relationship.”

It took Ben a couple seconds to register what Pedro had said. “Wait, hang on… _HE_?” Pedro looked confused so Ben elaborated. “ _He_ was looking for a more casual relationship?”

“Yeah. I mean, casual is hard for me, and —”

Ben cut him off. “Pedro. I’m not asking that. I am asking you to clarify that Sam is, in fact, a man.”

Pedro stared at him for a moment. “Yes.”

“And that makes you…bi?”

“Yes...Do you have a problem with that?”

“No!” Ben exclaimed hurriedly. “No, no. Quite the opposite in fact.” This was excellent news, indeed — he’d often _suspected_ the chemistry between Pedro and Balthy wasn’t entirely friendly, but assuming Pedro was straight, he’d refrained from any matchmaking ploys. Well, any _serious_ matchmaking ploys. But now — oh! but now! — _game on_.

Pedro raised his eyebrows and looked Ben up and down. “Look, Ben, you’re a great guy, but —”

“No, no!” Ben took a step back and waved his hands in front of him. “I’m not saying… You _are_ a very attractive man, and, you know, maybe once upon a time… but not now. I wouldn't… I just mean we’re cool.”

“Right,” replied Pedro, chuckling. “Glad we’re on the same page.”

Ben grinned. He couldn't wait to tell Ursula. _Wait. Hang on_. “Is this something people know about you? Or is it like —” he motioned zipping his lips.

“I mean, I don’t care if people know,” Pedro shrugged. “I’m not in the closet. I’m not going to make a school-wide announcement or anything, but it’s cool.”

“Great!” Ben smiled and took a few steps backward towards his own car. “I’ll see you on Monday then!” He turned around and pulled out his phone to text Ursula. This kind of information couldn’t wait.

 

* * *

 

_But fingers tap into what you were once  
And I'm worried that I blew my only chance_

The banjo started playing and Balthazar sat back in his chair, staring up at the ceiling. Ms. Tupou, the band teacher, always scoffed at him when he listened to pop music while working. But Mumford and Sons calmed him down, and he needed to find some calm after the turbulence of the move and now the first week of second term. He’d forgotten that most students don’t practice at all over the term break, even though it happened without fail during every break, so rehearsals had been rough.

As he brainstormed practice assignments for Junior Choir, he leaned back toward the stand where he’d perched his Handel score.  A brief movement caught his eye, and Balthazar looked up at the window to the hallway. He couldn’t be sure, but he thought that Pedro had just passed by his classroom door.

Balthazar smiled slightly and then, wondering why he was doing so, quickly stopped. Probably wasn’t him, and anyway it shouldn’t matter.

Still, Balthazar found himself keeping a closer eye on the window. Before long, Pedro (and it was definitely Pedro this time) passed by the window again. He looked into the classroom, and for a brief moment, they made eye contact. Balthazar was on the brink of giving a friendly smile when Pedro looked down again and continued walking.

It was when Pedro walked past his window for a third time that Balthazar’s curiosity got the better of him. He stood and walked around the stand to the door.

To Balthazar’s great surprise, Pedro was right there when he opened the door with a hand raised to knock and a startled expression on his face. “Whoa! Hey!”

“You alright?” Balthazar asked, amused.

Pedro dropped his hand. “Erm, yeah. Everything’s fine. Why?”

“You walked past my door, like, four times.”

“Three times.”

Balthazar smiled at Pedro’s defense. “Alright, three times. Are you lost?”

Pedro ran a hand through his hair. “Ah, no. Ben sort of… ditched me for lunch.”

Balthazar noticed the lunch bag in Pedro’s hand and stepped back, holding the door open. “You can eat in here if you want.”

A wide grin stretched across Pedro’s face. “Thanks!”

Balthazar walked over to the stereo and turned it down as Pedro followed him into the room. With the department as small as it was, Balthazar was happy the school at least had a large choir room. One less thing to worry about.

“Mumford and Sons?” Pedro asked.

“Yeah. They’re my favorite,” replied Balthazar as he moved back to his chair. He cleared his stack of scores off the piano bench he’d been using as a makeshift table, and gestured to the flimsy plastic chairs pushed up against the wall. “Pull up a chair.”

Pedro grabbed the closest chair and set it down across from Balthazar. “You sang a Mumford and Sons song at that open mic I was at, right?” he asked as he pulled a sandwich from his lunch bag.

“I did,” Balthazar replied, smiling. “You get bonus points if you can tell me which song it was.”

“Shit. I know this.” Pedro scrunched his face in concentration. “It’s wasn’t this one,” he said, gesturing to the stereo.

“No, it wasn’t,” Balthazar agreed.

Suddenly, Pedro clapped and pointed at Balthazar. “The Cave!”

“Very good!” Balthazar was surprised, but very pleased, that Pedro remembered that. The only reason Balthazar remembered was because that show had been his last happy memory with Tony. _Nope,_ he chided himself _. Not going to think about that_. “But do you know what this song is called?” he asked.

Pedro took a bite of his sandwich and closed his eyes, listening to the song.

 _But my heart was colder when you'd gone_  
_And I lost my head_  
_Let's live while we are young_

He shook his head and looked back at Balthazar. “No idea.”

The song came to an end and Balthazar paused the stereo. “It’s called ‘Whispers in the Dark’ from their _Babel_ album. It’s about… well, missed opportunities, I suppose.” Balthazar sat back in his chair as he thought, picking at the sleeve of his cardigan. He knew the lyrics by heart, but it had been a while since he’d really thought about what those lyrics meant — they hit close to home. Every so often, Balthazar still found himself second guessing his decision to stay in Auckland since he and Tony broke up, even though he was pretty sure he’d made the right choice. It made things easier that Tony was in New York and not on the other side town or he might have gone running back by now. 

“You alright?” Pedro asked hesitantly.

Balthazar hadn’t realised he’d spaced out. He met Pedro’s eyes again and gave a small, reassuring grin. “Yeah. I’m fine.”

“I sort of lost you there for a moment,” Pedro joked.

“It happens sometimes. When I’m thinking.”

“What were you thinking about?”

Balthazar shrugged. “It’s not important.” Pedro looked as if he was about to argue, so Balthazar cut him off, asking, “How has this term been for you so far?”

“Compared to the last one?” Pedro ran a hand through his hair. “Better. I know my way around the building now. I know most of the students’ names. And I’ve actually made some pretty good friends, which is nice,” he said, gesturing to Balthazar.

Balthazar could feel his cheeks reddening and he dropped his gaze. _Goddammit_. “Good friends other than Ben, you mean?”

“Yeah. I mean, don’t get me wrong, Ben’s great. And he’s a good guy, he’s just…”

“Energetic?” Balthazar supplied.

“That is one word for it.” Pedro sighed. “I know how this is gonna sound, but I’m just so used to having friends, you know? And I’ve never really had problems with making friends until I got here.”

“Ah. So you were the popular-student-leader-football-captain type in high school, then?” asked Balthazar, smirking.

“Actually, all those things, yeah.”

Balthazar snorted. “Of course.”

Pedro slid his chair closer. “Who were you? The quiet-wallflower-musician everyone loved but no one could seem to get close to?”

“Are you implying I had no friends?” Balthazar joked.

“No, I just —”

“Is that what you take me for? A loner who sits in the corner at parties playing Wonderwall?”

“That is not what I meant,” Pedro assured him with a tentative smile.

“I know. But I did have friends. Good friends. It’s nice having people you can talk to.”

“Also, it’s nice to have people around to laugh at your terrible jokes.”

Balthazar raised his eyebrows. “Terrible jokes?”

Pedro leaned forward. “I’ll have you know I’m the _master_ of terrible jokes.”

“Yeah? Prove it.”

Without even pausing for thought, Pedro began. “What do you call a fish with no eye?” Pedro raised his eyebrows and grinned.

Balthazar smiled. “I give up,” he said.

“A fshhhhhh.”

Balthazar let out an involuntary snort. It was a terrible joke, but something about Pedro’s enthusiastic delivery made it funny anyway.

Pedro continued. “What do you get when you cross the Atlantic with the Titanic?”

“What?” Balthazar was starting to feel a little giddy. Maybe that’s why he was already holding back preemptive laughter on what was sure to be the cheesiest punchline in existence.

“About halfway!”

Balthazar shook his head as his laughter escaped. “Too soon!” he protested.

“Too soon? It was over a hundred years ago!” Pedro countered, laughing himself. “Okay, okay, I’ve got a musical one — you should like this! What do you get when you drop a piano on an army base?”

“What?” Balthazar barely managed to gasp between giggles.

“A flat major.”

Tears formed in Balthazar’s eyes as he laughed. “Stop. You have to stop now.”

“You breathing alright there?” Pedro teased, eyes gleaming.

 _Not if you keep looking at me like that,_ Balthazar thought. _Fuck. Nope. Moving on_. “Those were the worst jokes I’ve ever heard.”

“Then I have proved my point. And you still laughed.”

“You must be very proud of yourself.”

Pedro sat up a little straighter. “I am. Very proud.” He pulled a granola bar out of his bag, then looked to Balthazar. “Hey, mate, are you hungry? Do you want this?”

Balthazar shook his head. “Oh! Nah, I have my own lunch. I should probably…” He got up to retrieve his lunch bag and pulled out an apple and a peanut butter and jelly sandwich.

“Did you get all moved in, then?” Pedro asked.

“Erm. Mostly. I still haven’t gone through all my music. I sort of just threw it all in boxes when I packed.” Balthazar grimaced. He really needed to go through all of it, but he just hadn’t been in the right state of mind for it yet. If he was lucky he _might_ get done by the end of the term.

“You’re doing better than I was. I only just got rid of all the boxes at my flat.”

Balthazar smirked. “What did you do during the holiday? Besides helping me move?”

Pedro ran a hand through his hair. “Honestly, I spent most of it marathoning _Parks and Recreation_.”

“Nothing to be ashamed of there. I rewatched _Flight of the Conchords_ for like, the tenth time.”

“Aw, sweet! I love that show! ‘And you know when I’m down to just my socks what time it is...’” Pedro quoted.

“‘It’s business time!’” he finished, laughing.

Balthazar knew he could talk about the hilarity of _Flight of the Conchords_ until the cows came home, but the sound of students milling around in the hallway forced him to cut the conversation shorter than he would have liked.

“Is that the time?” Balthazar asked, checking his phone even though there was a clock right above his door.

“Wow, that was fast!” Pedro remarked as he gathered the remnants of his lunch. “Time flies, I guess?”

Balthazar gave a small smile. “Yeah.”

Pedro stood and stretched. Balthazar made himself look past Pedro towards the door. Several students had begun to make their way into the classroom. He smiled and nodded at Meg as she walked in.

“Thanks for letting me eat in here,” said Pedro, now gathering up his things.

“Sure,” replied Balthazar. He stood and walked with Pedro as far as the trash can to toss the remains of his lunch. “I’ll see you around, then?”

“Definitely.” Pedro patted him on the shoulder. “See you, bro!”

Balthazar was tempted to chide him about calling him ‘bro’ in front of the students, but Pedro gave him another wide grin and he couldn’t seem to get the words out. Instead, he watched Pedro turn and head out the door, greeting a few students as he went.

“Mr. Jones?”

Balthazar jumped a little when Dennis said his name. He quickly switched into teacher mode. “Yes? How can I help you?”

“I was wondering if you have that guitar book you mentioned last week?”

“Yes, I do. Give me one moment.”

 

* * *

 

“It’s a miracle Bea hasn’t fired you yet!”

Ben sat at his desk at home with his elbow on the desk and his chin in his hand. He smiled back at Ursula’s image on the computer screen. “She’s threatened to several times. I have a theory about that, actually.”

Ursula smirked. “About why she hasn’t fired you, you mean?”

“Exactly. After applying my scientific mind to this, and evaluating all the details,” Ben sat up and gestured towards himself. “I have come to the conclusion — you ready for this?”

“Oh, do go on!” urged Ursula, playing along.

“The reason she hasn’t fired me yet — after threatening to do so many times — is that she is madly in love with me and couldn’t bear to be without me.”

Ursula laughed. “Or it’s because she’s smart and knows how good of a teacher you are.”

Ben shrugged. “I guess it could be that, as well. She’s a smart one, our Beatrice is.” He considered Bea to be one of the smartest people he’d ever met. Always had.

“So,” said Ursula with a determined look on her face. “Are we going to talk about the Pedro thing?”

“Right!” Ben had texted her ‘SKYPE DATE 2NITE PEDRO’S BI ALERT ALERT’ after he left the pitch Saturday afternoon. Ursula had been busy, but he’d insisted that this was a conversation they needed to have face to face, or at least as close as they could get, so now here they were. “So… Pedro’s bisexual.”

“I got that part.”

Ben leaned closer to his screen. “I got him to eat lunch with Balthazar today.”

“Oh?” Ursula asked, grinning. “How did that go?”

“Very well, I think. I poked my head into Balthy’s classroom halfway through. They seemed to be getting on — they didn’t even notice me!” Ben watched Ursula tap her fingers against her face. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” he asked.

“We can’t force them into a relationship,” she told him.

“No… but that doesn’t mean we can’t give them a little help. I mean, come on.” Ben gesticulated wildly at nothing. “You saw them when we were helping Balth move.”

“I did.” They sat in silence for a few minutes as Ben thought about his two friends.

Once upon a time, Ben would have been against the relationship. He’d grown up a bit since then. People had this amazing ability of removing sadness from your life. It was something he thought both Pedro and Balthazar could benefit from.

Ben noticed a sly smile spread across Ursula’s face. “I know that face!” he said. “Usually it scares me, but right now it brings joy to my soul. You have a plan!”

“I do.”

Several seconds passed and Ursula didn’t elaborate. “Well? Are you going to tell me?”

Ursula shook her head. “You’ll know if it works. Trust me.”

“Oh, fine.” Ben sighed. “I should probably get to bed anyway. Did I ever tell you I have to get up at five in the morning to bike to school on time?”

“Every time we Skype,” she said. “I should get to sleep as well. Have a good rest of your week, Ben. We’ll talk again soon, I’m sure.”

“I’ll let you know when I have some free time. You have a good week, too!”

“Say hello to Bea for me.”

“I will.”


	13. The Idea

TO:              peter.donaldson@messina.school.nz

FROM:          ukuang@gmail.com

SUBJECT:      Messina

Pedro,

It was very nice to meet you over the school break! I’d heard so much about you from the others. Your story about the food colouring had me laughing for a while!

I apologise that it’s taken so long for me to send this. I meant to get in touch with you when this school year first started to make sure you were settling in alright, but things got hectic on set. I hope my notes were of use to you; I know the ones for Creative Writing were a bit excessive, but it’s one of my favorite classes and it made me sad to know I would not be teaching it this year.

One of my biggest regrets in leaving Messina was knowing that the Drama program would likely not continue without me. It was always fun (if challenging) for me and an incredibly rewarding experience for all the students involved. I know Beatrice said there was no money for it, but I’m sure she could find some somewhere if she dug around a bit.

I’m not sure how much theatre you’ve done in the past, but I wanted to let you know that if you, for any reason, wanted to try your hand at it, I’d help you in any way I could. The Drama department is very important to me and I would hate to see it go. I’m sure Balthazar would be willing to help you out as well.

I sincerely hope you consider it.

Best,

Ursula Kuang  
 

* * *

  
Pedro read through the email one last time before closing his computer and sliding it into his messenger bag. Ursula Kuang was the last person he’d expected to hear from; even though he’d met her once, he didn’t get the impression that they were close enough to exchange emails.

Since Ursula had left, there was no longer a drama program at Messina, and neither the staff nor the students were happy with that. Hell, Pedro wasn’t happy with it, and he had nothing to do with it. But it was always a shame when schools had to cut arts programming. These programs were so important and beneficial to the students, and so often those who had the power to allocate funding treated them as superfluous and unnecessary.

Now that Pedro had been at Messina for a while, he’d begun to get some perspective on his situation. He’d always resented the unwelcoming attitudes of the other teachers, but now he was starting to understand why they might have felt this way — Ursula had clearly made a huge impact on the school community. Pedro knew he couldn’t really replace her, but he felt a responsibility to this program that had been left dormant since her departure.

Perhaps this was why he kept coming back to Ursula’s email. It felt like the final missing piece of a puzzle. She’d mentioned Balthazar at the end, and that reminded him that Balthazar had written a musical. And John directed musicals over at Aragon all the time. These things, combined with Ursula’s offer to help… it all felt like the universe was trying to give him a sign or something.

He remembered the musicals during his own high school days at Aragon, how big a deal it had been, how excited everyone got. He’d participated in one of them himself, and had a blast doing it. Of course, putting on a musical seemed like a daunting project, but Pedro was always up for a challenge. He was an all-or-nothing kind of person — go big or go home.

Images of lights and costumes flitted through his mind as he packed his things and slung his messenger bag over his shoulder. With a spring in his step, he locked his classroom and headed toward the stairs. He looked in on the choir room as he passed the door at the foot of the stairs, and saw Balthazar with his customary two messenger bags slung over his shoulder, stooping to pick up several instrument cases.

“Hey, you’re still here!” Pedro called cheerfully.

Balthazar looked up. “Yeah… yeah, I’m just leaving.”

“Me too!” Pedro approached, extending a hand. “Here, let me help you with those.”

“Nah, I’m good,” Balthazar said, struggling to fit through the door with all his baggage.

“Seriously, bro,” Pedro insisted. “I’ve only got this one bag. I wouldn’t feel right walking out with you loaded down like that. I can take a few things.”

Balthazar looked for a moment like he was about to refuse again, but then his expression softened. “Yeah, okay,” he conceded, “you can take these.” He held out the three cases in his right hand. Pedro carefully extricated them from Balthazar’s grasp, sliding beneath the tips of his long fingers in the exchange.

“Okay, I got it,” Pedro said, transferring one of the cases to his other hand for balance.

“Thanks,” Balthazar said. He lifted his eyes to meet Pedro’s just for a moment, in that shy, tentative way that Pedro had begun to recognise as characteristic of him. “Um, I parked in the east lot.”

They set off, and Pedro figured this was as good a time as any to bring up the musical. “So I’ve got an idea, and I was wondering what you think.”

“Oh yeah?” Balthazar glanced up again. “What sort of idea?”

“I think we should do a musical here at Messina.” Pedro grinned expectantly, but Balthazar wasn’t looking up to see it.

“A musical? That’s… ambitious.” Balthazar said. Pedro couldn’t quite parse the tone of his voice. It certainly wasn’t the enthusiastic agreement he’d hoped for.

“Well, yeah, but —” Pedro cut off, trying to marshal up all the support for this idea that had been floating around in his head. “Everyone seems so bummed about not having drama this year and I thought — well, you know my brother puts on musicals all the time and I could talk to him about it, and Ursula offered to help me out with logistics, and —”

“Wait, when was this?” Balthazar interrupted, frowning.

“She sent me an email just this morning,” Pedro answered, wondering why Balthazar would be annoyed by this.

“First I’ve heard of it…” Balthazar muttered.

“Yeah, well anyway,” Pedro continued, feeling distinctly wrong-footed. “She offered to help, and she said you might help too, and I mean, you’re brilliant, and the students love you, and I thought maybe…” Pedro trailed off at the skeptical look on Balthazar’s face.

“She said I’d help, did she?”

“Well, I mean, if you want to but —”

“Do you realize how much it costs to put on a musical, though?” Balthazar interrupted. “If you want to do some drama stuff, that’s great, but you could do something smaller, like… I dunno, put on a scene for a project in your English class?”

“That’s hardly the same thing! I want to do more than that, give more kids the opportunity to participate. We could really do something great — there’s so much talent at this school!”

“Okay, but how do you expect to pay for the score rental when we can’t even afford instrument repairs?”

Pedro smiled. As it happened, he had the perfect response for this one. “We wouldn’t need to _rent_ a score if we did _your_ musical.”

They had reached Balthazar’s car and Balthazar had set his instruments down by the boot and was now staring at Pedro with the strangest expression. He snapped out of it, pulled the keys out of his pocket, and clicked the button to open the boot. “Yeah, we’re not doing that,” he said as he loaded his instruments in the car.

“What do you mean? Why not?” Pedro stood frozen a few feet away.

“I just don’t want to, okay?” Balthazar answered tersely. He paused for a moment, then mumbled, “Could you hand me those?”

Pedro had forgotten he was still carrying the rest of Balthazar’s instruments. “Oh yeah,” he said, approaching the car and handing them over. “Look,” Pedro said. “I know you said you didn’t think it was that good, but that one song you played for me was _amazing!_ I can’t imagine the rest of it is as bad as all that.”

Balthazar shook his head. “That’s not the problem.” He closed the boot and circled around to the driver’s side. Pedro followed.

“Then what is the problem?” Pedro asked. “Why won’t you even consider this? You know it would be a great opportunity for the kids.”

“Just drop it, Pedro,” Balthazar warned, not turning to face him.

“No, I won’t!” Pedro said. He pulled Balthazar by the wrist so he would just _look at him_. “We could do this, I know we could! And I know it would be so great if you would just give it a chance. I don’t understand what your problem is.”

Balthazar’s eyes were focused on Pedro now, sad and angry and startlingly blue, but then he dropped them to the ground once again and swallowed. “My — my ex-boyfriend wrote the script,” he admitted softly. “I’d have to — I’d have to call him, ask permission, and I don’t — I can’t —” He cut off and heaved a sigh, pulling his arm out of Pedro’s grasp and opening the car door. “I told you to drop it.”

Pedro stepped back into the empty parking space next to the car, watching numbly as Balthazar started the ignition, backed out of the spot, and drove off. He stood there for at least a full minute, trying to absorb what had just happened. Finally, he sighed and ran his fingers through his hair.

“You really fucked it up this time, Donaldson,” he muttered to himself, then turned to find his own car and head home.

 

* * *

 

**Balthazar** : Check your email when you get the chance.

**Balthazar** : Please.

 

TO:              ukuang@gmail.com

FROM:          stanley.jones@messina.school.nz

SUBJECT:      musical

You told Pedro I’d help him restart the drama dept. why? I understand how much you love it and that you don’t want to see it die but Pedro hasn’t done this before so I’d be doing most of the work and I don’t have time, you know I don’t. I loved helping you with it but this would be different. I can’t have something else on my plate like this.

You could have at least told me ahead of time.

 

TO:              ukuang@gmail.com

FROM:          stanley.jones@messina.school.nz

SUBJECT:      sorry

sorry about that last email. I was a little worked up.

He wants to do Tony’s play. Our play. I’d have to call him and make sure that’d be alright. What if he says no? that would be a good way to let pedro down, I guess but what if he says yes? It’s not fully written yet, Urs! What if he comes back? how involved will he want to be?

It would be good for the students, though. They always loved doing plays and our band might be able to to play in the pit. That would be a good experience for them. but theres no time. wed have to hold auditions before the script was done and we don’t have any money. Pedro said you’d help but you’re not even a phone call away sometimes.

My songs could be played by a full band. I could have a musical credit.

I don’t know what to do.

 

TO:              ukuang@gmail.com

FROM:          stanley.jones@messina.school.nz

SUBJECT:      pedro

I think I might like Pedro.

 

TO:              ukuang@gmail.com

FROM:          stanley.jones@messina.school.nz

SUBJECT:      RE: pedro

Call me.


	14. The Incident

Meg looked over the paper that Hero had just passed back from the seat in front of her. It was the guidelines for this term’s first big writing assignment, and it looked pretty involved.

_Well, I’ve made it this far,_ she said to herself. _Let’s see if I can keep it going._

Last term, she’d managed to improve her marks just enough that with some cajoling, she was able to convince her parents to let her stay at Messina, with the stipulation that they still wanted to see more improvement from her before she was completely in the clear.

She tried not to feel too overwhelmed by this assignment, because her usual response to feeling overwhelmed was to blow off the work she needed to do. Instead, as Mr. Donaldson began going over the project guidelines, she thought back to one of the tips Hero had given her last term: _just take it one step at a time._ The first step: find a topic. According to the guide sheet, this was due by the end of the week. She could do that. She would just need to —

“Aiden, this is your second tardy.” Mr. Donaldson’s reprimand interrupted Meg’s thoughts. “You know if this happens again I’ll have to —”

“Yeah, I know,” Aiden Perata said easily, “you’ll call my mum.”

God, he was such a dick.

“Yes, and she’ll cut off your allowance, like she told me she would.”

The class giggled. Aiden scowled. Meg smirked.

“Here’s the guide sheet you missed,” Mr. Donaldson said. “Go take a seat.”

Meg was suddenly very aware of the empty seat behind her. She ducked her head down, but it made no difference; she soon heard his footsteps coming down her row. She lifted her head to shoot him a dirty look, but he just responded with a grin and a waggle of his eyebrows.

It wasn’t like he ever did anything completely out of line, not since that time Ms. Duke chewed him out in front of everyone at the beginning of last term, but it was just the things he’d say, and the way he looked at her sometimes. It was a game to him — stray comments, brushes against her arm, keeping her a little angry, a little uncomfortable, and always on her guard. She hated how well it worked.

All through the class, she tried to keep her mind focused on the discussion of the writing assignment, and then on symbolism in _The Great Gatsby_ , but she couldn’t ignore the prickle at the back of her neck. She didn’t know how or when Aiden would try something, but even if he didn’t, it was all part of the game.

It finally came at the very end of class, as Meg was gathering up her books.

“Hey Meg, you need to loosen up. Isn’t that what your reputation depends on?”

 

* * *

 

Pedro couldn’t tell what Aiden had just said to Meg, but he could tell that she was upset by it, whatever it was. As Aiden passed his desk, Pedro shot him a warning glare, to which Aiden only smirked. Meg came soon thereafter, following behind Hero and Claudio, who seemed too absorbed with each other to notice how upset their friend was.

“Hey, Meg?” Pedro asked as she passed.

Meg approached his desk, looking apprehensive.

“Don’t worry, you’re not in trouble,” he said with a reassuring smile. Then he lowered his voice. “Is Aiden bothering you?” he asked.

Meg immediately hoisted a smile on her face, which may have been convincing if Pedro himself weren’t an expert in exactly that kind of falsely unconcerned smile. “Oh, I don’t pay any attention to what _he_ says,” she said dismissively.

“That’s not what it looked like to me just now,” Pedro countered. “Look, if you want, I can report him.”

“No, it’s fine,” Meg insisted.

Pedro still wasn’t satisfied. “Are you sure there isn’t anything I can do? I could look into getting you into a different class, if that’s okay with your parents —”

“No, don’t tell them! They’ll freak out, they’ll —” Meg cut herself off before saying what her parents might do. “I mean, thanks for looking out for me and everything, but it’s really okay. He’s annoying sometimes, but I can handle it.” She smiled brightly again. “Anyway, good class today! I’ll get started on that writing assignment right away, I promise.”

She waved and headed out the door, leaving the room in silence, save for the intermittent laughter and conversation of a few lingering students who hadn’t yet left for the day. Pedro looked down at the clutter on his desk. There was a stack of papers that needed grading, but he knew he wouldn’t be able to focus on that right now. He was too preoccupied with trying to figure out how to handle this situation with Meg. He’d need to keep an eye on it, of course, but he was only one person. He knew that this sort of situation could easily get ugly, but he also didn’t want to go against Meg’s wishes unless he had a compelling reason.

Somewhere in the midst of his troubled thoughts, Pedro began to notice music wafting down the hallway through his open door. It was just a lone melody (a violin, maybe?), coming from the choir room downstairs. Something about the choir room was tugging at his memory, something about that one time he ate lunch with Balthazar. He’d stayed so long that a few students began to trickle in for the next class. Meg was one of the first, followed closely by… Aiden Perata. He remembered now.

If Pedro was looking for someone to be a second pair of eyes on the situation, it seemed that Balthazar was the perfect choice.

Pedro immediately stood and strode across the room, glad to have a good place to start. He reached the top of the staircase before he remembered — he hadn’t spoken to Balthazar once since their conversation about the musical.

Pedro hesitated. The music emanating from the choir room was more present now, echoing softly from every surface of the staircase. He knew his friendship with Balthazar had always been fragile. Whenever they seemed to be getting on well, Pedro would somehow stumble into the wrong choice of words and Balthazar would close up again, and they’d be back at square one. Pedro felt sure that he had gone too far with this latest faux pas, that he’d finally managed to ruin any chance of a real friendship between the two of them.

But none of this changed the fact that talking to Balthazar was really the best course of action right now. He was more than a little bit afraid that Balthazar might still be mad at him, but that was a personal issue; ultimately, he needed to put that aside to do what was best for his student.

The music grew steadily louder as Pedro descended the staircase. When he reached the choir room door, he saw the back of a familiar, spiky-haired head. Balthazar’s arm reached up and over his instrument, his bow drawing a deep, earthy sound out of it. Pedro didn’t know a violin could sound like that. Pedro stood in the doorway, his hand suspended, just about to knock, but he was loath to interrupt this moment. He knew he could listen to Balthazar play all day, but his conscience prodded him into action.

He knocked on the door frame.

The music stopped. Balthazar turned, saw Pedro, and smiled. “Hey man,” he said, “how’s it going?”

Pedro was taken aback. He hadn’t expected this. “You’re… you’re not mad at me?” he asked.

Balthazar frowned. “Mad at you?”

“For trying to get you to do the musical,” Pedro explained.

“Oh…” Balthazar said as if he’d only just remembered. “Nah, man. You didn’t know about, uh… my ex and stuff.”

“Yeah, but I still shouldn’t have pushed you on it the way I did,” Pedro said sheepishly. “It’s just sometimes I get an idea in my head and I just want to run with it, you know?”

“That’s not always a bad thing,” Balthazar said, setting the instrument he’d been playing in its case.

“Is that a violin?” Pedro asked. “It didn’t sound… I don’t know. It sounded different.”

Balthazar nodded approvingly. “That’s because it’s a viola,” he said, fastening the bow to its spot in the cover of the case. “I usually stick with violin, but I play a bit of viola every so often if I’m feelin’ it.” He snapped the case shut and closed the clasps to secure it. “This one needed some repair work, so I played on it a bit to make sure I did a good job fixing it.”

“Sounds good to me,” Pedro said. _Was there anything this guy couldn’t do?_

Balthazar shrugged. “It’s okay. Could use a proper going-over at the shop, but there’s no money for that.” He looked up at Pedro. “Did you want to talk about something?”

“Oh, right,” Pedro said. “Um, you have Meg Winter in your class, right? And Aiden Perata?”

Balthazar shifted his eyes upward in thought. “Yeah,” he said, “they’re both in Concert Choir. Why?”

Pedro sighed. “Well, they’re both in my last hour English class, and I saw Aiden say something to Meg at the end of class today. I don’t know what he said, but she seemed upset about it. And I know this isn’t the first time there have been issues with… with the way Aiden treats female students. I tried to talk to Meg after class, but she just brushed it off, and she doesn’t want me to report it.” He ran a hand through his hair. “I just feel like this could turn into a bad situation, and I don’t really know what to do about it, but I thought it might help if you knew, and, I don’t know, maybe could keep an eye on things?”

Balthazar nodded. “Yeah, I can do that,” he said. “Do you know why she didn’t want to report him?”

“I don’t know,” Pedro said, thinking back to the conversation he’d had with her, “but she did get kind of jumpy when I suggested talking to her parents, so that might have something to do with it.”

“Hmm…” Balthazar leaned an elbow on the piano. “I think I’ll need to see what’s going on for myself before I make any judgments. Obviously, it’s important to respect what Meg wants, but her safety is also important.”

“Yeah, definitely,” Pedro agreed. He was glad Balthazar understood. “I’d better get going. Lots to grade and all that, but we’ll… we’ll keep in touch, yeah?”

“Of course,” Balthazar said. “Thanks for letting me know about this.”

 

* * *

 

Meg sat down on the grass at the edge of the school parking lot. She slipped her phone out of her pocket and scrolled through her contacts. There was a little Hero-like voice in the back of her head that was telling her that maybe she should get started on some homework. She had a Trig assignment due in a few days, and she knew that was the subject she struggled with most; the more time she gave herself, the better. And the next three chapters of _The Great Gatsby_ weren’t going to read themselves. But honestly, she wasn’t sure she could focus on homework. Aiden’s comment and Mr. Donaldson’s attempt to help had left her feeling a bit jittery, and she needed a distraction from school right now.

She found Robbie’s entry and hit call.

“Hey baby,” he said when he picked up. Meg could hear the crooked smile in his voice.

“Hey, do you wanna go see a movie or something?” Meg suggested.

“Nah, I can’t,” Robbie said. “I’ve gotta do my homework.”

Meg frowned. “Your homework?”

“Yeah, Donaldson’s been getting on my case about my marks.” Robbie laughed. “He knows I’m the only one who can pull off playing Tony. I still need to audition, but everyone knows I have it in the bag.”

“What are you talking about?”

“ _West Side Story_. That’s the musical we’re doing this year,” Robbie explained. “‘Course in order to be in it, you have to get Ms in all your classes, and I got one A last term.”

“Wouldn’t that disqualify you?” Meg asked.

“Well it _should_ ,” Robbie said, “but Donaldson must really be desperate, because he brings me into his office, yeah? And he says all this stuff about how he can make an exception if I _‘demonstrate intent to improve’_ and how I’ve got to submit my midterm grades and everything.”

Meg made a face. “Sounds awful. Why do you put up with all that?”

“There are advantages to being Donaldson’s golden boy,” Robbie said, a smile creeping back into his voice. “Hey maybe you should try out,” he suggested. “I could see you playing Anita.”

“Nah, musicals aren’t really my thing,” Meg said breezily, though that wasn’t the real reason.

“Too bad,” Robbie said. “Hey, we could do movies tomorrow. I’ll even watch a chick flick for you.”

Meg gasped theatrically. “For _me?_ Oh Robbie, you shouldn’t!”

“We never end up actually _watching_ anyway,” Robbie said with a laugh. “But I should go.”

“Yeah, get your shit done, Borachio,” Meg chided jokingly. “Call me tomorrow, okay?”

“Okay. See you later, baby.”

“See ya.”

Meg hung up and considered finding a different person to call, but she figured that when _Robbie_ of all people turned you down to do his homework, it was probably a sign. She did promise Mr. Donaldson she’d get started on the writing assignment right away, and she could use a head start on her Trig…


	15. A Case of Identity

Verges squinted her eyes at the luminous screen of her mother’s old laptop in the growing dusk, finally realizing that perhaps it was time for her to get up and turn on the light in the room. She didn’t.

She’d gotten in the habit of this over the past several weeks — ever since she and Dogberry had begun spending time with Puck. On the days when she came home directly after school, she’d have a small mum-approved snack before commandeering the old laptop that she and her younger brother now shared. She was always careful to shut the door to her bedroom and browse incognito, as she was afraid of how her mum might react if she learned that Verges was frequenting LGBT support communities online. Her mum had never explicitly told her what the Devil’s opinion on that might be, but Verges was sure he had one.

And it wasn’t as though Verges was there to hook up with anyone, although she imagined her mum (or even her brother) might think that if they found out. Sex was something she rarely thought about, and on the few occasions where she had thought about it, it seemed more odd to her than anything. She steered away from the sections of the websites that dealt with sex and dating as much as possible, because what she was really interested in was identity.

Who was Verges, exactly? How was Verges different from Georgia? And how could Verges get people to understand that difference, especially if they’d already known Georgia for many years?

And Verges did feel different to Georgia. Verges felt more... comfortable. Looser. As though a simple name change might allow Verges to stare the Devil down and dare him to do his worst.

Or at least that’s what she had thought when she chose the name in the last few weeks of summer. But after talking to Puck about the great variety of genders that most people didn't know about, she wondered if Verges might be different to Georgia in more than just name. She was pretty sure Verges wasn’t a boy, but she wasn’t completely sure that Verges was a girl either, so she’d sought out as many testimonials as she could find of people who didn’t fall into one of those two categories.

For the most part, what Verges found was story after story of people saying, “this is how I feel. Is this okay?” followed by other community members or moderators saying, “yes! Be gentle with yourself and best of luck.” It was so opposite to the reaction she’d gotten from almost everyone at Messina when she’d asked them to call her Verges that she yearned to reach out to these welcoming people, even though she was still too afraid to put her feelings into writing, as though that might solidify something before she had all the information she needed in order to make an informed decision.

But the most intriguing posts to her were the ones from people who didn’t know, just like her. On this particular evening, she lit upon a particular post:

> _I’ve always been basically happy being a girl, but lately I think maybe I don’t have a gender at all. I don’t know if this is just a phase or whatever but I want to figure it out. Does anyone have advice for how to figure out if you’re agender?_

There were several responses to this, but one stuck out to her:

> _Nothing works for everyone, but in my experience it really helped me to figure it out when I asked my close friends to use a different pronoun for me. Once they started doing that, it was like a lightbulb went off over my head. Of course you need to have at least one supportive/understanding person in your life for this to work, but even if you don’t you can try using new pronouns in your head and see if that changes how you feel. Gentle hugs — you can do this!_

Verges had seen many posts mentioning both pronouns and supportive people in your life, but none had distilled it quite as succinctly as this one had. Puck’s pronoun, “they,” popped into Verges’s head. Would that work?

They were going to try to find out.

 

* * *

 

The bell signaling the end of Concert Choir took Balthazar by surprise. He knew the lesson was running a little behind today (the students were having some difficulty with the contrapuntal section of the Handel), but he’d banked on having another five minutes. Apparently he’d misjudged the time.

As the class began the pick up and head out the door, Balthazar scrambled to find a particular piece of paper in the stack on top of the piano.

“Don’t forget to sign up if you want to audition for the solo in Blackbird!” he called, locating the paper he needed and sliding it to the other end of the piano. “Audition sheet is here on the piano! And take some time this weekend to listen to that YouTube video of the Handel that I sent out.”

He’d hoped to make these announcements before the bell. At this point, he wasn’t sure how many of the students actually heard him in the commotion. But a few of them did stop by to sign up. He was glad to see Meg Winter add her name to the list, as he thought her voice would be particularly well suited to this solo.

True to his word to Pedro, Balthazar had kept an eye on Aiden Perata for any suspicious behavior toward Meg. He saw that Meg sat on the outer edge of the alto section, far removed from where Aiden sat with the tenors. Balthazar probably wouldn’t have noticed this on his own, but now that he did, it didn’t sit well with him. Meg was popular and outgoing, and extenuating circumstances aside, Balthazar knew she normally wouldn’t have chosen to sit that far away from the centre of things.

He would certainly continue to watch the situation, but he couldn’t help wishing there was more he could do…

“Hi, Mr. Jones!” a cheerful voice called from the doorway amid the students filing in for next period.

He turned and smiled. “Oh, hi Verges. Come on in.”

Verges approached the piano and stood, bouncing on her toes, “Did Puck tell you I’m learning tech work with them in the theatre?”

“Oh yes, they did mention something about that to me. That’s great experience for you. Definitely something you’ll want to remember to put on your resume.”

“I was wondering how that would work for the end of term concert, since I’ll also be singing in the choir?”

“Hmm, good question,” he said, pausing to think through the logistics. “Well, since you’re in Junior Choir, you’re first on the program, so —”

The class bell cut him off mid-sentence, and Verges startled to realize that most everyone else had taken their seats already.

“Don’t worry,” Balthazar finished with a smile, “we’ll figure it out.” He raised his voice to address the class. “Welcome everyone! We have a lot to get through today, so let’s get started.”

He began with warmups. With these year 9-10 students, he always allowed them to sing their warmups in whatever octave was most comfortable, so long as they could match pitch, and they were getting to be pretty reliable on that front.

Junior Choir was an interesting group to work with. Sure, it could be difficult to find music that worked well with this particular combination of soprano, alto, and a small but growing sort-of-tenor section, but it was always rewarding to be able to show students at this awkward, in-between age that they could make something beautiful with their voices.

Today they were working on an arrangement of “Tel Iwi E” that he’d found a few years back. He liked using it with this choir because it was a relatively simple arrangement, he got to accompany on the guitar, and it was a good opportunity to incorporate Maori language and culture into his curriculum. They were making good progress, though some of the tenors still wanted to sing soprano down the octave.

He ended the class by going over the theory worksheet on intervals that was due today. He did some interval drilling, both in recognising the written intervals, and intervals played on the piano, that he then had the students sing back to him in order to connect the theoretical concepts with the musical sounds they represented.

This time the bell rang exactly when he expected it. He was happy to find he’d accomplished everything he’d planned for this period. “Good work today, guys,” he called out. “See you on Monday!”

Balthazar was sorting through the pile of theory worksheets on the piano as the class bustled out, when he heard a demure “ahem.”

“Oh! Verges, hi.”

“Um hi, Mr. Jones. I was wondering... um, could I ask you something? Or tell you something? Or, well, actually ask you something.”

Balthazar tried to hide his smile at her awkwardness. “Of course. What’s on your mind?”

“Well, it’s just...” she trailed off, glancing quickly over her shoulder at the door as if to check that they were alone in the room. “I wanted to say thank you? For calling me Verges, I mean.”

“Seriously, not a problem.”

“It’s just... most people don’t want to call me Verges. They don’t understand. You’re the only teacher who doesn’t forget and call me Georgia.”

The sweet eagerness of her tone as she confessed that none of her other teachers supported her choice of a new name made Balthazar’s heart break a tiny bit. He glanced at the clock to make sure he still had a few minutes before the next class was to arrive, then gestured to invite her to sit on the bottom riser next to him. She followed him unquestioningly. “Verges, can I tell you something?” She nodded enthusiastically. “You know the other teachers call me Balthazar, right?”

“Yeah! Wait,” she interrupted herself, “did you ask them to call you something else? Are they ignoring you, too?”

“No, actually, I asked them to call me Balthazar. But what I was going to say is, when I was your age, everyone called me — can you keep a secret, Verges?”

She sat up straight and held up her hand as if taking an oath. “I promise.”

“You won’t tell anyone what my old name is?” He didn’t much care who knew his old name, of course, but he wanted Verges to feel like she was in on a special secret.

“I’ll forget it as soon as you tell me! I would never tell anyone.”

“Okay. Everyone used to call me... Stanley.” He pulled his face into an exaggerated grimace.

“That’s not such a bad name,” she said thoughtfully. Another thought struck her, and she jerked her head up indignantly. “But they shouldn’t have called you that if that’s not what you wanted! I just meant... well, there are worse names to be called than Stanley.”

“Like Georgia?” he guessed.

She shrugged.

Balthazar knew the minutes were ticking by, and he wanted to make sure that Verges felt okay before any other students came into the room, so he put a hand on her shoulder. “I don’t want you to be late to your next class — was there something else you wanted to ask me?”

“Oh! Um, well, actually, yeah. It’s just... you know how you said ‘she’s got the right idea’ when I answered the question? In class, I mean?”

“Yeah...”

“It’s just... um, I’ve been, sort of, trying some new, um, pronouns? For myself?” When Verges stopped here, Balthazar nodded in encouragement. “Could you, um, say ‘they’ for me instead of ‘she’? Or just ‘Verges’?” They looked at him with wide innocent eyes and bit their lip.

“Absolutely!” Balthazar nodded emphatically. “Thank you for trusting me enough to let me know.” He suddenly realised how difficult a time Verges would have with their pronouns if no one else even respected their new name, and resolved to champion them to the best of his ability. “And you know that you can always come talk to me about anything, right? Between classes, after school... whenever. If you can’t find me, send me an email. Got it?”

“Got it!” Verges beamed and hopped up off the riser step just as the door opened and let a few talkative students into the room. “Thanks, Mr. Jones!”

“Always here to help,” Balthazar said with a smile. “You take care, Verges”

As Balthazar made his way back to the piano, he couldn't help but try to think of ways that he might be able to help Verges. Pronouns seemed like such a small thing to change, and yet he remembered Puck’s experience a few years ago, and how many people who were otherwise open-minded suddenly became stubborn when Puck asked them to respect their new pronoun choice. If only there were a way to educate the Messina community about this issue; he was certain that Verges and Puck weren't the only ones who would benefit from it.

And then his mind inevitably strayed to the musical he and Tony had written last year, and how many conversations they’d had about sexuality and gender in Shakespeare. He remembered seeing _Rent_ for the first time in high school, and how it had given him the courage to come out to his parents. That was the thing about drama, music, art — it had the power to connect people who would otherwise feel alone in their experience. He still didn’t like the idea of talking to Tony about the musical, but the thought struck him that perhaps he owed it to Messina — to Verges at least, if no one else — to make the effort.

The bell rang, interrupting Balthazar’s thoughts."Okay," he called out over the happy chatter of the entering class, and arpeggiated a D major chord. " _Where shall I go-o today!_ "

He would have to think about it more later.

 

* * *

 

Verges was floating on air since their conversation with Mr. Jones earlier. They still had some residual butterflies in their stomach; it had been surprisingly difficult to work up the courage to tell him about their pronouns — much more difficult than telling people about their new name. Even as awesome as Mr. Jones was, they were still shocked at how easily he'd agreed to use their new pronouns.

They felt an almost reckless confidence for the rest of the day. Having successfully told one person about their new pronouns, they were itching to tell someone else. Not just _anyone_ , of course — some people still wouldn’t call them Verges — but they were sure they could tell Puck and Dogberry after school when they worked on the sound and lighting setup for the upcoming Music department concert. It was all Verges could do not to zone out during the rest of their classes, imagining themself announcing their recent revelation to their friend without any preamble.

But when Verges arrived at Dogberry’s locker after classes, they found their friend bursting with news.

"Verges! Just in time. Puck informed me earlier today of a most deleterious situation in the auditorium."

"Really? Did they tell you what it is?"

"No, but I hope you've put on your thinking cap for this one. This may be a perfect opportunity to deliberate our detective skills."

When they arrived at the auditorium, they couldn’t find Puck anywhere at first.

“Puck?” Verges called tentatively. “Where are you?”

“I’m up here!” came their fearless leader’s voice from… somewhere.

“I think they’re up in the kittywalk,” Dogberry said.

“It’s the catwalk, Dogberry, and yes, that’s exactly where I am. Could you guys help me wrangle this cord?"

"Yes! Of course," Verges said, hopping into action. They followed Dogberry up the ladder onto the catwalk. It was taking some getting used to being this far up above the theatre. It was exciting, but still a little scary. Puck stood beckoning to them from the other end of the raised walkway.

"So about that mystery..." Dogberry began.

Puck chuckled. "Right, yeah. But first — Dogberry, can you hold this light in place while I attach it?" Dogberry climbed up to hold the light, and Puck continued. "So I heard from the ghost cat again. It left me a message."

"A message from the ghost cat? This is a most investing development, indeed! What was the message?"

"Don't get too excited," Puck said, "I still need you to hold that light." Verges smiled to themself as they coiled the cord.

"Right. But the message?"

"Well, that's the mystery, isn't it?" Puck flashed their signature grin. "It was just a single sock, lying in the middle of the stage."

"A sock, eh? What sort of sock?"

"Just a plain white sock."

"Unlikely," Dogberry scoffed. "It may look like just a plain white sock, but if it's a message then there must be something unquiet about it. Unless its plainliness _is_ the message?"

"May we examine it?" Verges asked.

"Naturally. I have it in my pocket here... Dogberry, can you hand this to her?"

"Them," Verges said.

"What?" Dogberry asked.

"Um, them? Can you, um, instead of she or her...?"

Puck smiled wider than Verges had ever seen. "Right on — no problem."

Dogberry nodded curtly. "Of course, Verges."

Verges' heart ballooned in their chest. "Thanks. Now may I see that sock? We must figure out this message!"


	16. Play It Cool

Claudio stood in the wings taking deep breaths.

There had been a few things that had freaked him out that morning. His alarm hadn’t gone off, so he was lucky that he’d woken up roughly the right time anyway. He hadn’t been able to find his lucky underwear _anywhere,_ so he’d had to tell himself repeatedly that he didn’t believe in luck. Then of course he had walked inside Aragon High School for the first time ever (or ‘Arrogant High’ as all the Messina kids called it), so he’d needed to remind himself that a fancy building and smart uniforms did not make these people better than him. And now he stood in the wings of an auditorium that looked not only newer but bigger and more technical than any he’d ever been in.

_Deep breaths._

He heard someone approaching from behind him and felt two hands on his shoulders.

“You’re going to be fantastic,” Hero told him in a low voice. “Just play it cool!”

Claudio turned around and for a sliver of a moment, his mind was distracted from anything other than how perfect an individual Hero was.

“Thank you.”

From somewhere out beyond the stage came the call of his number.

Hero took one of his hands and give it a squeeze. Then, with one last deep breath, Claudio walked out onto the stage.

“Name?”

Claudio squinted through the lights to see the teacher who sat about five rows back. He was slight with dark hair and a grim expression. Surely this couldn’t be the Mr. Donaldson that was related to _their_ Mr. Donaldson. Two people couldn’t be more different.

“Um, Claudio Lawrence.”

“You’re from Messina High.”

Claudio didn’t know if this was a question or just a statement but he nodded and agreed. “Yes, I’m Year 13.”

“Congratulations. And what have you prepared for us today?”

“‘Maria’.” Claudio had thought that was what would be expected since he was going for the role of Tony, until he heard Mr. Donaldson’s quiet comment “...original.”

_Deep breaths._

The Music teacher at the piano began to play the opening notes of the piece and Claudio tried to push everything from his mind, except for that first line: “The most beautiful sound I ever heard…” It was the song Tony sings after he meets Maria for the first time. He imagined the feverish excitement Tony must feel, the sense of opportunity tinged with fear, the burning desire for that one good thing in the world.

As Claudio began his performance, he realised the only thing he was thinking of was Hero.

 

* * *

 

Balthazar considered himself critically in the full-length mirror propped in the corner of his bedroom. It had been a while since he’d been to a football game and he wasn’t completely sure what attire was expected. He’d opted for his usual jeans, boots, and a thick-ribbed jumper on top of a favourite new shirt, which was red with a pattern of little white foxes.

Balthazar tugged at his sleeves uncomfortably. He couldn’t really remember why he’d finally agreed to go to watch one of Ben’s games. Balthazar had decided a long time ago that it would be a waste of a Saturday afternoon. He had no interest in football and he’d much prefer to meet Ben and the others in the pub after the game. And yet, here he was.

With one final glance at the dubious figure in the mirror, Balthazar left his reflection, grabbing his keys from the kitchen table and his coat from the back of the door.

He felt better once he had set off. Sure, a football pitch wasn’t his natural habitat, but all Balthazar was really doing was going to hang out with his friends. The last time he worried about what he was wearing to go to a football match was back in school and that was because he had had a crush. There had been a centre forward who had sat next to him in History. He had been very good looking as well as depressingly straight.

_How things change,_ Balthazar thought ironically.

When Balthazar arrived at the sports fields, the players were already converging on the pitch, jogging on the spot and stretching to get warm. Balthazar scanned through some of the familiar faces and felt the smallest dip of disappointment at not seeing one in particular. He was still mentally berating himself for this when Ben came bounding towards him.

“Balthazar Jones, as I live and breathe!”

Balthazar smirked and accepted Ben’s greeting hug.

“We’ll have to get photographic evidence of this moment — Balthazar attending a sporting event.”

“Well, you know, I thought it was about time.”

Ben gave him an alarmingly knowing smile. “Don’t think you’re fooling me. I know exactly what has particularly piqued your interest.”

“What?” Balthazar said, attempting to appear casual. “The idea of shivering on the sidelines while a ball gets passed around in the mud?”

“You’ve been single for a few months now. I can see the allure of a bunch of men in their prime displaying their athletic prowess!” Benedick demonstrated this by pulling some suitably ridiculous sporting poses.

Balthazar laughed and shook his head, disbelievingly. “Nah, nah, I think I’ll pass on that for now.”

“Suit yourself!” They began to walk over to the others. “It is fucking cold though, isn’t it? Our heating’s broken so it was almost impossible getting out of bed this morning.”

“Yeah, I’m wearing two vests,” Balthazar admitted. “Hey, um, is Pedro not playing?”

“He’s here. I think he just went to change his shirt again. Don’t know what was wrong with the yellow one or the green one but there we — oh!” Benedick spotted Pedro emerging from the changing rooms. “He’s gone for blue. The obvious choice now we know it.”

Pedro noticed the two of them and jogged over. “Hey, Balth! Are you prepared for this?”

“I don’t know… Should I be worried?”

“Should _I_ be worried, more like!” Ben said. “Pedro has played awfully recently. He’s been beyond distracted. You could say, it’s almost like he’s had his mind on some special lady — or some special guy...”

“Alright, alright,” Pedro quieted him down with a wave of his hand. “I’m going to be back on form today. And besides, Balthazar is going to be my good luck talisman, right man?”

“Sure,” Balthazar agreed. “Break a leg.”

“I can still run rings around Ben, even when I am playing crap.”

Balthazar smirked as Ben spluttered in response. “Um, excuse me! Your invitation to this team can quickly be retracted, my friend.” Then he gave Balthazar a shrewd look. “I think he’s showing off for you.”

“I’m only speaking the truth, Ben. What can I say?”

As the players began to take their places on the pitch, Balthazar found his friends, Jordan and Marcie in the stands. He chatted with them briefly, but once the game began their sole focus shifted to the action in front of him. Balthazar watched curiously for a while. He was particularly interested in the focused way in which Pedro scanned the playing field and how he darted into action at the slightest provocation. It was a side to him that Balthazar had never seen before.

But, ultimately, they were just passing a ball around a square of grass and it didn’t take long for Balthazar’s mind to wander away from the pitch altogether. And there had been one thought occupying Balthazar’s mind more than any other recently — the musical.

Ever since Pedro had first suggested performing it, or maybe even before that, when he heard Pedro clumsily playing those opening bars on his piano, the idea had been buzzing infuriatingly around his mind. And now somehow the musical had become inexplicably linked with Verges, the Year 9 having trouble getting people to acknowledge their gender and, more curiously, with Meg, who had been fending off the aggressive attention of her classmate.

Balthazar couldn’t help wondering if performing the musical that he and Tony had created could be exactly what the school needed. It introduced issues of gender identity, gender roles and sexual orientation that most of the staff, let alone the students, would not have been previously aware of. It could help to educate them without their even realising it was happening, which was of interest to Balthazar who had spent fruitless time in the past pestering the Humanities department about incorporating social justice issues into their curriculum more explicitly.

The only reason Balthazar didn’t want to do the musical was because every time he thought about it, his chest constricted uncomfortably as memories of Tony came flooding back. So much had happened between them, so much that Balthazar still hadn’t processed or worked through. He wasn’t sure if he was ready to be confronted with it all just yet.

“So, what do you think?” Pedro asked at half time, leaning over the railings to talk to Balthazar. “Have we converted you?”

It took a moment for Balthazar to realise he was talking about the game, not the musical. “Um… well, I suppose it was alright.”

“Wow. You sound pumped. Did you even stay awake?”

“I saw your goal.”

A pleased smile bloomed on Pedro’s face. “Yeah? You impressed?”

“Yeah, you’re a regular, um, Vaughan Coveny.”

Pedro shook his head in disbelief. “You actually had to think about that, didn’t you? You actually couldn’t think of a single footballer. You know, I’m not sure if we should be friends anymore.”

Balthazar laughed. “Hey… When you can name the most important works by Mozart then you can judge me.”

Ben galloped over with a loopy grin and splatters of mud on his face. “BALTHAZAR!” he cried. “You having fun?”

“He’s having a great time,” Pedro answered for him. “He can barely contain his excitement for the second half.”

“I’m here, aren’t I?” Balthazar suddenly realised he was smiling a little too much at Pedro. He realised this because Ben was giving him a curious sideways look.

“Well, don’t sneak off,” Ben told him. “First round is on me after the match. That is unless you two had other plans…” And he actually winked.

Balthazar suddenly became very interested in the welding on the railings. Fortunately, Pedro said he needed to get some water.

As soon as Pedro had jogged off, Balthazar pulled a frustrated hand through his hair and said, “Ben, can you please stop trying to set me up with straight guys? It’s embarrassing for everyone involved.”

Ben laughed loudly and wickedly and then turned to Balthazar with a gleam in his eyes. “Who told you Pedro was straight? You know you really shouldn’t just assume _everyone_ is straight. That is very close-minded of you.”

“Ha ha ha,” Balthazar said dryly. “Just cool down on the innuendo, okay?”

“Alright, alright. I won’t get involved,” Ben lied. “But to be clear — Pedro is bi.”

Balthazar shook his head in what he hoped was a pitying way. “If you say so. Now please stop, he’s coming back.”

Ben looked as if he was about to protest but Pedro jogged back over and chucked him his water bottle. “Here you go, nerd. Don’t want your legs cramping up before the end. They’re slow enough as it is.”

When play recommenced, Balthazar made no attempts to pretend he wasn’t watching Pedro. Pedro was always attractive, but when he was sprinting across the grass, that determined expression fixed on his face, his hair whipped back...

Balthazar knew that Ben had just been messing around as usual, but the idea of Pedro being bisexual was a cruelly tempting one. Balthazar would love to think that he hadn’t imagined those small moments when it felt as if there was something between the two of them… But he’d been down that road before and wasn’t about to get mixed up in another messy situation after only just having extricated himself from a different, but equally messy one.

Thinking of Tony and the way things had ended brought Balthazar’s thoughts back to musical. The confusing, almost juvenile crush that he was developing towards Pedro was yet another reason why Balthazar was hesitant to put on a musical with him. But he didn’t want his personal issues to get in the way of what was best for his students. That would be selfish, even cowardly.

But doing the musical would be the best thing for the students. Balthazar realised he had decided that much, and what else really mattered? At the end of the day, his feelings towards Tony or Pedro would never be a good enough reason to avoid doing what he knew was right.

By the time the final whistle was blown and Ben and Pedro had triumphantly sprinted off to have a shower, Balthazar had made up his mind. This musical needed to happen.

 

* * *

 

The Aragon High website was as sophisticated as one would expect, but to Claudio it still felt like it took an eternity for the bulletin page to load. Then all of a sudden there it was — the cast list.

The first thing Claudio saw was the top two roles — Tony and Maria. And his name wasn’t there. Nor was Hero’s.

Claudio’s shoulders slumped and he briefly closed his eyes. Of course he had been naive to think that he could begin to compete with the Aragon elite. Naturally there were plenty of better qualified candidates than him. But Robert Borachio, whoever he was, had been deemed more worthy, and Claudio couldn't prevent a bite of jealousy towards him.

Claudio scanned down the rest of the roles and found himself next to ‘Action / Tony (understudy)’. He hadn’t found Hero’s name before his phone began to ring.

“Congratulations!” Hero cried as soon as Claudio picked up. “Have you seen it yet?”

“Yeah, I’m looking at it now.”

“You sound disappointed.”

“No, I’m not!” Claudio insisted. “I mean, I suppose this Robert guy must have loads of experience with this sort of thing, so…”

“You know who that is, right? Robbie. He’s friends with Meg.”

“Oh, okay.” Something in the way Hero said this made Claudio fairly sure that she wasn’t entirely fond of this friend, though he knew Hero would never admit this. “So what part did you get?” He scanned his eyes over the list again.

“I didn’t get a part.”

“What?” Claudio genuinely thought he had misheard her until she followed with a slightly awkward silence.

“Well,” Hero eventually said, “there’s only a few female parts, and a lot of girls tried out, so it’s not like I had much of a chance.” She didn’t sound particularly upset, but Claudio wasn’t convinced.

“I can’t believe it! You were amazing!”

“Aw, thank you,” Hero said.

“I’m serious! I think it’s that Mr. Donaldson guy. I reckon he has something against Messina students.”

“Claudio…” Hero said trying to soothe him. “I’m sure that’s not true. His brother teaches in Messina, doesn’t he? And he opened the auditions to anyone. He could have just allowed Aragon students.”

“So it’s just a coincidence that no one from Messina got good parts?”

Hero laughed. “You’re the understudy for Tony! That’s really good!”

“That doesn’t mean anything though, does it?”

“That means Mr. Donaldson thought you were good enough to carry the show if Robbie can’t do it, for whatever reason. For your first ever audition, that’s fantastic. You should be proud of yourself.”

Claudio tried hard to feel proud, he really did. Mostly, though, he felt a combination of disappointed and envious. And upset for Hero, of course. Doing the play without Hero had never been part of the plan, but now he wanted more than anything to prove to Mr. John Donaldson exactly what he could do.


	17. Winter Concert

The crowd that was gathered around the drama department bulletin board grew silent as John approached, carrying two pieces of paper fresh off the copier. Those closest to the bulletin board drew back to allow John his space. He was in no hurry, as impatient as he knew the students were; a part of him relished the suspense he knew he was perpetuating.

He made sure that the first sheet was aligned parallel to the top of the board before deliberately pinning both top corners. With the same amount of care, he placed the second sheet directly below the first, clean lines following upon clean lines, before securing it with two more pins.

Without uttering a single word, John retreated into his office, leaving the door slightly ajar. He normally wouldn’t stay within earshot of the chaos that ensued — the shouts of joy from those who got what they wanted, the groans of despair from those who didn’t, the chatter about who got what part and whether they deserved it (as if John’s casting process wasn’t rigorously fair). None of this was ultimately relevant to the success of the production, and therefore John didn’t generally care to witness it.

But he had a reason for staying today.

“Of course, everyone knew you’d get the lead, Robbie.”

“Yeah, congrats, man.”

“Thanks. Could’ve been anyone, really.” The smugness in Robbie’s voice belied his humble words. “But yeah, this should be fun. I haven’t —”

“Mr. Borachio,” John interrupted, still in his office. “Might I have a word?”

“See you guys later,” Robbie called to his friends before entering the office, his features schooled into an impassive expression.

“Please, have a seat,” John said, gesturing to the chair in front of his desk.

Robbie sat.

“I would be remiss if I didn’t congratulate you on winning the role of Tony,” John said. “You auditioned well, and clearly outperformed the other applicants. In that sense, it wasn’t a difficult decision on my part. I understand you wish to pursue a career in acting?”

Robbie smirked. “Yeah, I think I’ll have a go at it.”

John nodded. “You have the potential to do well in that field. You certainly have talent, but I am concerned that you lack diligence and perseverance. You cannot get far as an actor without a great deal of hard work.”

“What are you saying?” Robbie asked. “I still have the role, don’t I?”

“Yes, of course you have the role,” John said impatiently. “My point is this: I made an exception for you. I did so because I believe you are capable of performing well in this role. Should you give me any reason to regret making this exception, then not only will you be excused from your role in this production, but I will not provide you with any references or referrals for your future acting career. Is that understood?”

That effectively wiped the smirk off his face. “Yeah, I get it.”

 

* * *

 

Pedro turned off the car engine and considered what to do next. He was early for the concert. Not the reasonable kind of early, with its advantages of plenty of empty seats to choose from and a little extra time to peruse the program. No, he had arrived over an hour before the Messina High School Winter Concert was to begin, and he wasn’t sure what to do with himself.

He’d decided to devote most of the day to end-of-term grading, and reward himself for his hard work by eating dinner out and attending this concert. Ben had been nagging Pedro about coming to the concert all week, and he had to admit, he was curious to hear the context to those snippets of music that had been emanating from the choir room all year.

He’d allowed extra time for dinner, telling himself it was because going out to dinner on a Saturday night often took more time than expected, but really, he was just tired of grading. And then dinner had taken less time than expected, and here he was, sitting in his car in the Messina parking lot, contemplating how he was going to kill the next hour.

Parents were dropping their children off outside the front door to the Arts and Humanities building. Most of the students emerging from the cars sported uniform black-and-white formal wear, though some wore street clothes and carried their concert attire in a garment bag. Students called to each other and laughed and chattered, and a nervous excitement hung in the air as they made their way to the doors. It made Pedro remember some of the school events he’d participated in as a high school student — the excitement, the anticipation. Somehow it had felt like they’d be showing the world what they had to offer, even if the audience was mostly their parents.

Pedro exited the car as the last of the students hurried inside. With nothing better to do, he decided to swing by his classroom. One of his students had turned in their end-of-term paper a few days late, and he thought maybe he’d left it somewhere on his desk. If it was there, he’d at least have something to occupy himself as he waited for the concert to begin.

A cacophony of sounds from the music rooms greeted him as he entered the building. He peeked into the choir room as he passed it to see Balthazar leading one of the groups in a warm-up, then ascended the stairs to his own classroom. He flicked on the lights and began searching his desk.

It turned out he was more organized than he’d given himself credit for; the paper was nowhere to be found, so Pedro assumed he must have taken it home. In other circumstances, he’d be impressed with his own foresight, but now it meant he was left with nothing much to do. As a last resort, he flopped into his chair and pulled out his phone. A faint jumble of musical sounds wafted up from downstairs, which proved to be a pleasant background noise as he scrolled through facebook and halfheartedly began two different crossword puzzles.

Before long, though, he started to feel antsy. He figured he’d be safe to find a seat in the auditorium about fifteen minutes before the concert started, but that was still another twenty minutes away. Maybe he could get up and walk around for a while.

Pedro pocketed his phone and strode to the door, pausing as he stepped outside the room. The unlit, deserted hallway brought back a memory of the end of last term, when he’d (literally) run into Balthazar sock sliding past his door. All of the emotions he’d felt back then were suddenly intensely present, as if he’d actually gone back in time to that moment. He felt the raw sting of his breakup with Olivia, the eye-prickling, bone-weary exhaustion at the end of an evening of grading, and in the background, the edgy jitter of too much caffeine not doing enough good. He felt the rush of speeding down the hall on the slick, freshly-polished floor, and remembered how good it felt just to do something fun and silly.

He was half-tempted to take his shoes off now, get a running start, and send himself flying down the hall… But the sounds of musical rehearsals still floating up from downstairs reminded him that the building was not deserted, and upon closer inspection, it didn’t look like anyone had polished the floor recently, anyway.

Maybe some other time.

Pedro’s head was still lost in the sock sliding memory as he descended the stairs. Perhaps that’s why he didn’t notice someone coming out the choir room door.

“Whoa — hey!”

“Shit! Sorry!”

Pedro managed to keep Balthazar from falling by grabbing hold of his upper arm, but the music he was carrying scattered over the floor.

“Here, let me help,” Pedro offered, stooping to gather some of the fallen pages.

Balthazar looked up, his blue eyes smiling. “Thanks,” he said.

Perhaps it was the lingering effects of the sock sliding memory, but as he helped Balthazar pick up his music, it struck Pedro how glad he was that he and Balthazar had become friends.

“So, are you here for the concert?” Balthazar asked, standing up and straightening the pile of music in his hands.

“Yeah, Ben kept telling me how amazing it would be, so I figured I’d have to see for myself,” Pedro explained.

A hint of annoyance passed over Balthazar’s face, which confused Pedro for a moment, but it was soon replaced by a genuine smile. “Well, I’m glad you made it. Little early though, aren’t you?”

Pedro ran a hand through his hair, suddenly feeling nervous. “Guess I misjudged the time.”

Balthazar nodded. “Oh, okay. Well, I think Ben’s up in his room getting some grading done, so you could probably go talk to him, you know, if you need something to do…”

“Yeah, good idea,” Pedro said.

There was a pause.

“Well, um, I’ll just let you —” Pedro said at the same time Balthazar said, “Hey, there was something I wanted to —”

“Sorry.”

“Sorry.”

“You were saying?” Pedro prompted.

Balthazar fiddled with the corner of his stack of music. “I just wanted to talk to you about —”

“Mr. Jones?” A boy with dark curly hair approached.

“Oh, hi, Dogberry,” Balthazar said, turning to the student. “What did you need?”

“Puck and I have resurrected the risers on the stage. We decided to do it without Verges, because they’re wearing their nice, um… formality gown. But we’re not sure of the positionment of the piano. Could you… could you insist us with that?”

Balthazar was doing an admirable job retaining his composure in the face of this student’s creative vocabulary choices. He only sent a few twinkly-eyed glances in Pedro’s direction as Dogberry made his request. “Yeah, sure,” he said to Dogberry, then he turned back toward Pedro. “I have to go. We’ll talk later?”

“Yeah, definitely,” Pedro said. He watched as Balthazar followed Dogberry down the hall and turned the corner, out of sight. He was curious to know what Balthazar might have wanted to say before before being interrupted, but he was sure there would be other opportunities to find out. Perhaps they could talk after the concert. For the time being, Pedro decided to take Balthazar’s advice and go find Ben. To that end, he turned to go back up the staircase he’d just come down.

There was a light on at the far end of the English department hallway. Somehow, Pedro had missed that when he’d been up here before. He could hear faint laughter coming from inside the room and he paused at the door to listen.

“...still don’t understand how you can like olives but hate tomatoes,” came a voice Pedro recognized as belonging to Beatrice, the headteacher. “Olives are literally painful to eat. How are your taste buds not actually dying?”

“Olives are distinctive!” Ben protested. “And tomatoes are just… bland and goopy.”

Pedro opened the door and entered to find Ben and Beatrice seated on either side of Ben’s desk with their dinner spread out in front of them. Ben was in the process of extracting tomato slices from his sandwich and depositing them onto the open lid of Beatrice’s styrofoam box. He looked up as Pedro entered the room and grinned.

“Oh hey, mate!” he greeted. “Pull up a chair! You’re welcome to steal our chips if you want!”

“Speak for yourself,” Beatrice said, stealing one of Ben’s chips.

Pedro grabbed a chair from one of the desks, wondering as he did how common it was for headteachers to eat after-hours dinners with English department heads in their classrooms. Ben and Beatrice did seem to spend a lot of time in each other’s company; with all their bickering he hadn’t registered it before, but they always acted very… comfortable with each other.

But he wasn’t really one to pry into these matters. How his colleagues spent their free time and who they spent it with was their own business.

“So I take it you’ve come to attend the concert?” Ben said, his words slightly muffled by a mouthful of sandwich.

“Well, seeing as you wouldn’t shut up about it…” Pedro said with a smirk.

Ben lifted a solemn hand to his heart. “I do what I can to support my friend and immensely talented colleague, Stanley Balthazar Jones.”

“Stanley?” Pedro laughed.

“That’s his first name. Didn’t you know?”

“Huh,” Pedro said. “Guess I’m not the only one round here who goes by a nickname.”

“Yeah, how did you come by ‘Pedro,’ by the way?” Beatrice asked.

Pedro shrugged. “Some friends in high school started it as a joke, and I guess it kinda stuck,” he said. “You know, for a while in uni, I was really intent on reinventing myself, and insisted everyone call me Peter, but in the end, I guess I decided my high school self wasn’t so bad after all. Parts of it at least.”

“Ooh! Now we’re really getting into the essence of who Pedro Donaldson really is!” Ben’s eyes lit up. “Now tell me,” he continued, inexplicably falling into an Irish accent, “what is your darkest secret?”

“Oh god, not Benji again,” Beatrice complained.

“Benji?”

Beatrice rolled her eyes. “His Irish documentarian alter-ego. I thought I’d escaped, but he’s back.”

“What about you, Beatrice?” Ben lilted. “What do you feel is your greatest accomplishment to date?”

“Putting up with you on a daily basis.” She threw a chip at Ben, which he caught and popped into his mouth. “So, Pedro, how did your second term go?”

“It’s been good,” he said. “Actually, I did a really interesting project with my year 13s the other week.” He went on to tell her about the mini-staging of Doctor Faustus his students had done, rather successfully in his view. Pedro would never have expected to feel so comfortable speaking casually about his work with his boss, but he had come to find Beatrice less intimidating than she’d seemed at first.

Before long, Ben and Beatrice had finished their sandwiches, and the three of them made their way downstairs. They chatted amiably as they joined the crowd outside the auditorium, and soon found seats with a decent view of the stage.

“Wait ‘til you hear the Honors Choir, Pedro,” Ben said, nudging him with his elbow. “Balth does amazing work. You won’t even recognize that these are your students.”

“Ben, give them some credit. Just because you can’t keep your students in line doesn’t mean that Pedro has that problem. I’m sure his kids are perfect angels for him.”

“Model students, every one of them,” Pedro deadpanned. “I don’t know what you’re doing wrong, Ben.”

The lights dimmed, and Pedro was glad that Beatrice and Ben quieted down by the time the students began to enter the stage. The audience clapped enthusiastically as the entirety of the small choir filed onto the risers in uniform lines.

As the last of the students climbed onto the lowest step, Balthazar finally came out to renewed applause. His hair spiked perfectly, and he wore a dark gray suit with a shimmery midnight blue collarless shirt, and Pedro was reminded of the first time he saw Balthazar onstage, when he was merely an attractive and talented stranger. Pedro realized he hadn’t really thought of Balthazar in that way since then. He knew that it would probably be a bad idea to start now, what with his still-recent breakup, and the fact that Balthazar was a co-worker, but he liked to think he was someone who could recognize potential without acting upon it.

Balthazar smiled shyly and waved to acknowledge the applause. The stage lights sparkled in his blue eyes and Pedro’s stomach lurched. Yes, there was definitely potential.

Balthazar stepped up to the mic stand at the edge of the stage and slipped the mic into his hand. “Good evening,” he said, but the sound came on in the middle of his words, so it came out “good evENING.” The audience startled, but Balthazar chuckled and continued. “One of these days I’ll figure out the sound equipment around here. Good evening,” he began again. “I’d like to welcome you all to our annual Music Department Winter Concert. We’ve all been working really hard. Having a lot of fun, too, right guys?” He turned to consult the choir behind him. Most of them smiled and nodded. One kid let out a ‘woo!’ Balthazar chuckled. “Awesome! So if you’d all just take a second to turn off your cell phones or any other devices that make noise, we’d really appreciate it. I hope you enjoy the show.”

He turned the mic off and put it back on the stand, then stepped back to the podium in the center of the stage, and as he did, Pedro noticed Angela Tupou, the band director, entering the stage along with a girl carrying a flute.

“Oh look!” Ben said, “a flautist!”

“A what?” Bea asked.

“Flautist. That’s how you say the word.”

“That sounds made up.”

“No it’s —”

“Guys, shh.” Pedro gestured toward the stage, where Balthazar had raised his arms to start the first piece, called ‘Water Under Snow is Weary,’ an understated, slightly moody song about winter weather.

After the song was over, Pedro was surprised when Balthazar stepped offstage, the choir still waiting at attention. But he returned a moment later with his guitar, and he accompanied them on a song called ‘Tel Iwi E.’ Pedro was impressed by Balthazar’s ability to play guitar while simultaneously leading the choir, cuing their entrances by mouthing the words at each section.

Pedro clapped along with the rest of the audience as the Junior Choir filed off the risers. There was some shuffling offstage, and Pedro turned to Ben. “I can’t believe that was just the Year 9 and 10s! They sounded great!”

“I told you Balthazar works miracles with these kids.”

They stopped talking when several students with wind instruments began taking their seats onstage. Pedro had never been quite as interested in instrumental music as he had in choral music, since he’d only ever sung. But although Angela Tupou wasn’t quite the school celebrity that Balthazar was, Pedro had still heard good things about the band program at Messina, so he settled in, ready to enjoy himself.

He was surprised when Balthazar appeared at the back of the stage alongside the student percussionist before Angela came on to take her bow. “Hey Ben,” he whispered, “is that normal, for Balthazar to play in the band?”

“Yeah, he often has to fill in here or there,” Ben whispered back. Pedro was curious to find out more about the various roles Balthazar had to play in the department, but Angela was already looking out across the band in preparation for beginning their first piece, so he let it go at that for the moment.

The band had prepared three short pieces, none of which Pedro was familiar with. As he expected, the music wasn’t quite as engaging to him as the choir music had been, and he found his attention wandering to watch Balthazar shuffling around to the various percussion instruments. Pedro recognized some of the instruments he played — bass drum, crash cymbals — but others were unfamiliar to him. He’d never put much thought into how versatile one would have to be as a music teacher, but he suddenly felt like his grading workload was nothing compared to Balthazar’s job.

Before he realized it, the band had finished and Concert Choir took the stage. He checked the program as they entered, and found he actually recognized both composers, though one of them surprised him. “Does Balthazar usually do pop songs on these concerts?” he asked, pointing to where the program read ‘Blackbird’ by The Beatles.

“One never knows with Balthy, do they? Full of surprises, that one.”

“To answer your question,” Bea cut in, leaning over Ben’s lap, “he does often do pop songs, but not always.”

“Shhh! They’re starting!”

“If you’d just answered his question, we wouldn’t still be having this conversation.”

Pedro shushed both of them, and they immediately snapped out of it as Balthazar began conducting the first piece, a chorus by Handel that Pedro thought he might have heard before.

The Handel was lovely, but Pedro wasn’t prepared for how wonderful the arrangement of ‘Blackbird’ was. And Meg Winter surprised him with her clear, bell-like voice on the solo. A small worry for her well-being still nagged at the back of his mind, but she looked so happy he couldn’t help but smile.

The orchestra came onstage next. Pedro recognized one of the pieces they played, though again he found it difficult to focus on the music without any lyrics. Balthazar’s charisma as a conductor kept his attention, however, and he enjoyed their section of the program, despite the fact that Ben had begun trying to get his attention.

“What is it?” Pedro asked, exasperated, as they transitioned onstage between the orchestra and jazz band setups.

“So? What do you think?”

“They’re great! I told you that earlier.”

“Not _them_.”

“What?”

“Not the students — Balthazar!”

“Benedick, leave him alone. The jazz band is about to start.”

“Well?” Ben continued.

Pedro was confused. “Uh… I said he was great, too, dude.”

“But like… _really_ great, yeah?”

“Yes… and?”

“And nothing! Just wanted to make sure we’re on the same page. Balthazar is amazing. That’s all!”

The audience began to quiet as the jazz band members took their seats, and Pedro, rather than trying to parse Ben’s strange questions, merely shook his head and settled back in his seat once more.

As if it weren’t enough that Balthazar conducted four ensembles and played percussion in the band, it appeared he also played piano in the jazz band. Once again, Pedro’s mind wandered back to that first open mic, when Balthazar had played ‘Overjoyed’ on the piano. He wondered idly whether piano was Balthazar’s first instrument — he couldn’t possibly have come out of the womb playing as many instruments as he did now.

And then his thoughts drifted to that day he’d helped Balthazar move, when he’d played that beautiful Shakespeare song, and Pedro was saddened by the thought that he might never hear it again. He was glad Balthazar hadn’t stayed mad at him for suggesting they put on his musical, but Pedro still felt a tiny regret at what could have been such a rich opportunity.

He shook his head as he realized the audience was clapping again, and the jazz band students were carrying their chairs offstage to clear it for the final ensemble.

“You ready for the show-stopper?” Ben asked.

Pedro laughed to himself; Ben was really in a mood tonight. “Yes, I think I’m ready.”

“No, no. Pedro. _Are you ready?_ ”

“Yes!”

A couple of people sitting in front of them began to peek over their shoulders. “Benedick…” Bea said warningly.

“Okay, okay! I just wanted to make sure, that’s all. Can’t have my protégé missing out on the best bit.”

“Oh, so I’m your protégé now?”

“You know what I mean, Donaldson. I’ve taken you under my wing! We English teachers have to look out for one another, you know. Department pride! Messina High, rah rah rah!”

“Benedick, they’re starting! Shut up!”

“Right.”

For all that Ben’s intro had seemed silly and over the top, the Honors Choir did sound truly impressive, singing a piece called _Five Hebrew Love Songs_ by Eric Whitacre. If he’d been told they were a professional choir, Pedro would have believed it in a heartbeat. From the very first notes Angela played on the piano, he was enveloped in a soft dream world. The voices of the choir floated and danced and soared and Pedro was thoroughly enchanted.

The school he’d taught at in Wellington hadn’t had nearly such an impressive Music department, so he wasn’t prepared for the swell of pride that he felt, recognizing many of his students onstage creating such beautiful music. Moments like this, when he realized how much the students could accomplish given the right tools and guidance, were what sustained him through the slog of grading, meetings, and all the other red tape involved in teaching. And he could see that Balthazar felt the same way, simply by observing him with his students in his element.

At the close of the concert, Pedro happily joined the crowd in a standing ovation. Angela rose from the piano bench to join Balthazar for a final round of bows.

“That was amazing!” Pedro said to Ben over the applause.

“Did I or did I not tell you?”

“You did. I understand now.”

“Excellent! You see, Bea? Pedro is a sensible man of taste.”

“Did I ever say he wasn’t?”

“Well… no. But I don’t think you really felt it in your _soul_.”

“Whatever you say.”

“It’s alright, Beatrice,” Pedro said as they followed the rest of the audience out of their seats and toward the aisles. “I’m not worried about your opinion on my taste in music.”

“That makes two of us.”

“Three, actually,” Ben said. “It wasn’t the music I was —”

“Ben!” Beatrice interrupted. “You said you’d help him clean up. Go put away some chairs!”

“Do you need more hands?” Pedro asked. “I’d be happy to help move chairs.”

“No, it’s fine, you just… Wait! Actually, yes, I believe we do need some help. Follow me.”

Pedro wound his way through the crowd to the stairs at the edge of the stage, where Balthazar, Angela, and several students were stacking chairs on rolling racks.

“Balthazar! Stunning concert, as always. I’ve brought Pedro here to help clean up.”

Balthazar had looked so polished and put together from the audience, but up close Pedro could see sweat beading on his forehead and at the collar of his shirt. He looked as if he’d just run a marathon, completely exhausted but euphoric.

“Honestly, Balthazar, that was amazing,” he said, reaching out to shake his hand.

“Thanks, mate,” Balthazar replied, smiling demurely, as though he hadn’t just performed near-miracles with over a hundred students. “And thanks for offering to help, but I think we’ve mostly got this under control.”

“You sure? I’m happy to pitch in,” Pedro said.

“I’m sure. I’ve got a bunch of students taking care of the big percussion and all that, and we’ve already got most of the chairs. The risers can wait for now.”

“Well in that case,” Ben said, “we should all go out for a drink! What do you say?”

Pedro was ready to agree, but Balthazar spoke up before he could. “Nah, I should get home. I’m exhausted.”

“You sure, Balthy? Drinks are on me!”

“I’m sure. You two and Bea should still go, though.”

“I’m up for it,” Pedro said.

“I guess…” Ben trailed off, looking much less enthusiastic than he’d seemed a few seconds ago. “But we’ll see you next week at the staff party, yeah?”

Balthazar smiled. “Wouldn’t miss it.”

 

* * *

 

John picked his way around the sets and props that populated the storage room. He soon found what he was looking for: the fire escape set from a production of _West Side Story_ some ten years back, before John’s time. He recognized the work of Ms. Hanake, the shop teacher who had been around since John himself had been a student. He took hold of the lowest rung of the ladder and gave the structure a good shake. It still seemed quite sturdy, but of course, he’d have to examine it further to make sure it was still structurally sound and could safely support the two leads.

Under normal circumstances, John probably would have opted to construct new sets. It was a good way to get the Art department involved, which always pleased the headteacher, who liked inter-departmental collaboration. But this year, his budget for the musical was significantly smaller than normal. Putting on the kind of high-quality performance that the school community, as well as Auckland’s theatre-going public, had come to expect would of course still be doable, but John would have to be a little more careful with his spending than what he was accustomed to.

He scanned the brickwork painted on the surface of the wall. It was neatly done, but lacked shading. Just plain dark red bricks and plain grey grout. Perhaps he could still get the Art department involved in adding detail and realism to this set piece. An extra coat of paint wouldn’t cost as much as building from scratch.

John noted this on his clipboard, then moved on through the storage area to see what other pieces might be salvageable.


	18. Staff Party, Part I

“I can’t believe you talked me into being your designated driver for the night,” Ben groused. “This is such a nice neighborhood to bike in! No potholes, and I swear the drivers are more polite on this side of town.”

Beatrice shook her head and laughed — Benedick truly was incorrigible. “Are you kidding me?” she laughed, pulling her sweater closer around her shoulders against the early evening chill as they walked up the steps of the grand historic mansion where the governors held their annual staff party. “You were actually planning to _bike_ to the staff party? Had you planned to take a bath once you got there, or were you just going to stink up the place?”

“I’ll have you know my sweat smells of daisies and freshly-mown spring grass.”

“I’ll be the judge of that," she replied tartly. “In any case, I’m probably doing you a favor by forcing you to stay sober. That way you won’t make a fool of yourself like you have every time for the last six years.”

“When have I ever made a fool of myself at one of these?” he asked, pretending to look shocked.

Bea laughed again. “Where to even begin, Hobbes? I can’t even count how many times I’ve had to pull you out of that damn tub! Come on, we have plenty of time for me to tell embarrassing stories about you after I get a drink. Oh hey, look who's here already!”

She waved her arm in the direction of the bar where Ursula stood, holding a tall, thin glass with something orange inside.

Ursula waved back. “Bea! Ben! Great to see you. Thanks so much for inviting me. It's a little weird being here again, but it's nice.”

“It would be weird without you here,” Bea said, giving Ursula a warm hug. “Besides, I need a drinking buddy since this goofball has to drive me home later.”

“How she convinces me to do these things, I’ll never know,” Ben said, smiling as he reached to give Ursula a hug as well.

“Looks like they’ve gone all out again this year,” Ursula said. “I kind of thought they’d want to rein it in since —”

“Christ, don’t remind me,” Bea interrupted; she could already feel her blood pressure rising. “One of these days I’m gonna find the governors and tear them a new one for renting this place again.”

“But then you’d lose your job,” Ben said, “and none of us want that.”

She took a deep breath to calm herself. “Right. Which is why we need to drink! If I let myself think too hard about it, I’ll just get angry.”

Ben held her shoulders for a moment, and she felt the tension begin to dissipate immediately. “You just stay here and catch up with Ursula, and I’ll get your drink. The usual?”

“God, yes.”

 

* * *

 

_This is it_ , Balthazar thought to himself as he hung his scarf on one of the antique coat racks just inside the door of the house. _If I don't tell him tonight, it's not going to happen and it'll all be my fault._ Of course, he knew he was being a bit melodramatic; it wasn't as though he couldn't call Pedro to talk to him about the musical the next day. But if the last couple months of vacillation had taught him anything, it was that he had to act on any certainty he felt before the feeling passed. And since he'd been so busy with the Winter Concert, he was coming up on two weeks since he'd made this decision, so he knew waiting any longer was just asking for trouble.

He also knew that in order to do this project justice, they really needed to begin planning immediately. He and Ursula had never even attempted such a large-scale production, and even with their smaller plays they'd always begun planning no later than the first term break of the year. Balthazar was still kicking himself for not just getting over his personal issues when Pedro had initially suggested the musical at the beginning of second term.

Of course, his personal issues hadn’t magically disappeared. Just the thought of talking to Pedro about the musical set the butterflies in his stomach aflutter. And he knew that the next step after telling Pedro was telling Tony, and _that_ made the fluttering even worse. He just needed to remember that the benefit to the students would outweigh any potential difficulties, and that this would all be easier once he’d had a drink.

He wound his way to the bar, where he found Bea, Ben, and someone he hadn't expected to see for another month at least.

“Ursula?”

“Balthy! You're finally here!” She reached out and gave him a hug.

“I can't believe you're here! I thought you were busy with filming.”

“I got Viola to fill in for a few days — the weather actually cooperated this week, so we needed to get fewer shots than we expected. Besides, Bea told me this was going to be even more of a rager than usual.”

“Yeah, but if I'd had my way the governors would have spent all this money on keeping our fucking programs alive!” Bea declared loudly.

“Alright, let's not accost Balth right off the bat.” Ben reached over and gave Balthazar a hug with a smile, whispering in his ear, “she's already on her second drink and we just got here.”

Balthazar chuckled as he pulled away. “Don't worry, Bea, I know where your priorities lie.”

“Thank you, Balthazar,” she said, hugging him as well. “Now let's get you a drink! You're getting a taxi, right? If anyone besides Benedick bails on drinking with me, I will seriously consider uninviting you next year.”

“Right. I'll have, um... what are you drinking, Ursula?”

“Screwdriver.”

“Okay, I'll have one of those.”

“That's what I like to hear, Balthazar,” Bea said, pulling him toward the bar. “Let's get this man a drink!”

Balthazar quickly realized that he had some catching up to do in the drinks department. Ursula was a bit less effusive in her tipsiness than Bea, but her cheeks were just a little pinker than normal, her laugh a little more ready. And that was just among his close friends. Ms. Cross had brought her husband, who roared over the general din of the party while she looked on with inexplicable admiration.

After Balthazar had downed his first drink, he began to wonder why Pedro hadn't appeared. He'd told himself one drink, then just rip off the plaster and tell Pedro about the musical, but he could hardly do that if Pedro didn't show. He hesitated to ask Ursula whether she’d seen Pedro, though, even though they'd been chatting all through his first drink and her second (or possibly third). He cringed at the memory of the hasty email he'd sent her confessing what he'd been trying to deny for weeks before that. Ever since then, she'd graciously allowed the matter to rest, and he hadn't brought it up again. But he knew Ursula, and he knew that she hadn't forgotten. Moreover, he knew that with her inhibitions down, she would hound him mercilessly about his crush if he so much as mentioned Pedro.

Luckily, he didn't have long to wait before Pedro sidled up to the bar, his tie endearingly crooked as always.

“Pedro! My man!” Ben exclaimed, pulling him into a hug. “Balthy and I here were beginning to worry you weren't coming.”

“Nah, man, I wouldn't miss the staff party! I just got a bit waylaid, but here I am. No need to worry,” he said, shooting his sun-bright grin directly at Balthazar, who felt his cheeks going pink.

“Well, Balthy? Give him a hug!” Ben urged. Obviously Balthazar's previous pleas for non-interference, or at least subtlety, had made no difference. When Pedro reached for him, he had no choice but to return the hug.

He'd hugged plenty of people in his life, and yet somehow Pedro's warmth still took him a bit by surprise. He thought back to the football game a couple weeks before; watching Pedro's vibrancy on the pitch was nothing to the visceral thrill of being so close to him. But as quickly as it had begun, the hug ended, and Balthazar was left to settle his nerves while Pedro greeted Bea and Ursula.

Once he'd said his hellos, Pedro glanced around at the drinks in everyone's hands. “Wow, this party is sweet as! Way swankier than anything we ever had at my old job in Welly. We never had more than cans of beer and a box or two of wine,” he chuckled.

“Speaking of which,” Bea interjected, “let's get you a drink!” She turned to the bar without asking what he'd like and began ordering something for him and another for herself.

“This mansion is pretty amazing, too,” Pedro continued. “How does the school afford this?”

“Ah, that's a bit of a touchy subject right now,” Ben said, glancing at Bea's back. “Best not to ask. But we've been having our annual party here every year since before I worked at Messina, and it's one of my favorite places in Auckland. It even has an old-fashioned bathtub! In fact,” he continued with a mischievous glint in his eye, “Balthy, why don't you give Pedro a tour of the place?”

“Nah,” he said, turning to Pedro, “You don't need me to show you around, do you?” He could see Ursula in his peripheral vision raising an eyebrow, but he ignored her.

“Why not?” Pedro said. “Unless you have a better suggestion...?”

Balthazar still hadn't fully recovered from the embarrassment of Ben's blunt innuendos, but it occurred to him that it would be easier to tell Pedro about the musical if they got away from the others. Bea was so stressed out about funding she'd kill the idea right off the bat, Ben would assume that his ham-fisted matchmaking scheme was working, and Ursula would probably gloat even more than Ben, if that was possible. If Balthazar was going to tell Pedro tonight, this was his best opportunity.

He shrugged as nonchalantly as he could manage. “If you want a tour, I guess I'll take you.”

“Excellent! Now here's your drink, Pedro,” Ben said, taking the glass from Bea's hand just as she rejoined them and shoving it at Pedro, “and off you two go! Don't forget to show him the bathtub, Balthy!”

Balthazar chuckled. “We'll go there first, don't worry.”

Once they'd pushed through the crush of people around the bar, Pedro snagged Balthazar's jumper. “Hey, what's so special about this bathtub, anyway?”

“It's nice, I guess? It's just through here... see?” Balthazar pushed the bathroom door open a crack and flipped on the light to reveal a nice bathroom with a claw-footed tub, sparkling white on the inside and a dark navy on the outside.

“It's... a bathtub.”

“Yeah, Ben just has a thing about bathtubs. A couple years ago he got really wasted and we found him in the tub at the end of the night. He refused to answer anyone unless they addressed him as Batman.”

“Seriously?” Pedro laughed. “What a weirdo.”

“You've just now noticed?” Balthazar smiled and continued to lead Pedro through the halls of the mansion.

“Well, no, it was immediately obvious, I just didn't realize the depth of the weirdness. Besides, life would be pretty boring without us weirdos.”

“You, a weirdo? But you're…” He trailed off, not trusting himself to finish the sentence.

“Well, I don't get drunk in bathtubs and call myself Batman, but y'know. I'm an interesting enough guy, I think. Not nearly as interesting as you, though.”

This took Balthazar by surprise; he turned to face Pedro. “Wh-what do you mean?”

“I mean you're so multi-talented! Your concert the other day was so amazing. I can't believe how much you do for this school.” Pedro was giving him that sunshine smile again, and it was too much.

“Thanks, mate,” he mumbled.

“I mean it! Your students are so lucky to have you.”

This was the closest to an opening he'd heard, and besides, he was desperate to change the subject. “Well actually, speaking of doing things for the students... I've been thinking about your idea. I feel bad that I didn't listen to you before.”

“My idea?”

“You know, the musical.”

“Oh, that. Don't even worry about it. I didn't realize that you —”

“We should do it. You were right.”

This time, Pedro was the one taken by surprise. His eyebrows knit, before he met Balthazar's eyes again. “Really? _Your_ musical?”

“Yeah. It's just... there's this student, and like... and then Meg, and I…” He could feel his explanation going off the rails, but Pedro saved him.

“I'm in, bro. Let's do it!” He smiled.

“Yeah?” Balthazar felt an immediate sense of relief at how easy that had been. “Great, man. I mean, I still have some work to do on it, but —”

“I can help you! I mean, if you want. Actually, I don't know if I'd be much help…”

“Nah, you can help.”

“Great! I'll have plenty of time during break. Plus I have plans for dinner with my family, so I can ask John for some pointers. And I actually have two chairs and a table at my flat now, so you could come over to work any time. But I don't have a piano, so maybe we should work at your place anyway? I can't wait to tell Ben — Ooh! We should talk to Ursula too, since she's here! She said she'd help, right?”

“Whoa, okay, hang on,” Balthazar cut in. “This is still a long-shot, so I think we should take the break to see if we can get to a good point before we tell anyone about it.”

“But shouldn't we take advantage of all the help we can get as soon as possible?”

Balthazar paused to consider Pedro's point. He knew getting Ursula involved would prompt inevitable questions about his feelings toward Pedro, but she _would_ be helpful, and he'd come to this decision as a result of letting his personal feelings take a backseat. Plus, he knew he could trust her to stay quiet about it. Ben, on the other hand...

“Maybe…” Balthazar said slowly, “but we can't tell Ben or Bea, because Bea is already stressed enough about the budget. We definitely need something solid before we talk to her.”

“Why can't we tell Ben?”

Balthazar looked hard at Pedro. “There is literally no way Ben would keep his mouth shut.”

“Okay, fair point.”

“But you can talk to John, if you want. And we can... well, let me talk to Ursula.”

“Right. It's a plan — I'll drink to that!” He reached out to clink Balthazar's glass with his own. “Oh hey, we need to get you a new drink, yeah?”

Balthazar didn't think he needed another drink now that the worst of it was over, but it gave him a good excuse to rejoin the party, so they headed back toward the bar, the tour forgotten entirely.

When they got back to the bar area, things were even noisier than they had been before. Balthazar could see Ursula looking on in amusement as Bea and Ben had one of their standard debates.

“...Bea, you don’t even like tequila,” Ben was saying as they approached.

“It’s a matter of principle,” she replied, holding the shot glass to her nose and trying not to make a face.

“You already did one, love! We believe you!”

“What’s going on?” Pedro asked.

“Bea decided it was important to show Ben that she could handle tequila shots,” Ursula said, amused.

Bea gulped the shot in her hand, then shook her head and made a face. “And then Ursula here chickened out on doing her shot with me, so I had to take hers, too,” Bea said.

“Aw, too bad you didn’t wait a couple minutes,” Pedro said. “I would totally have taken your shot.”

“It’s good to know that at least _someone here_ knows how to have fun, but I regret nothing,” Bea said regally.

“So Pedro, you like tequila shots?” Ursula asked.

“Yeah, totally. I never used to, but then my ex-boyfriend in uni always wanted to do them, so I developed a taste for them.”

Balthazar's stomach dropped.

“Your ex-boyfriend? Because you're bi, right?” Ben grinned in Balthazar's direction, and Balthazar hung his head in his hand, wishing he could be anywhere else but here at this particular moment.

“Yes, Ben, I'm bi,” Pedro said, rolling his eyes. “We've been over this. I'm really gonna start thinking you're hitting on me if you keep bringing it up.”

“Oh don't worry, Pedro,” Bea burst in. “Everyone always thinks Benedick is hitting on them when they first meet him. Leading people on is his superpower.”

“Are we not over that yet, Bea?” Suddenly Ben's voice took on a note of hurt.

No one had anything to say to that, and the silence that ensued threatened to become awkward.

“Hey, who wants another drink?” Ursula piped up. “This round's on me.”

Balthazar immediately said yes, along with everyone else except Ben, who was too busy giving Bea meaningful glances.

“Why don't you come help me carry them, Balth?”

He followed her mechanically, still trying to process what had just happened. Before they even reached the bar, Ursula pulled him aside into the quietest corner of the room.

“Hey, you okay? You looked a bit... nauseous or something just now.”

“Well, yeah, I just... Ben told me before, but I didn't…” He shook his head. “Did you know?”

“About Pedro?”

“Obviously!”

“I mean…” she hesitated. “This doesn't have to be a bad thing, you know.”

“Ursula.” He stared her down. “Did you know?”

“Well… Yeah. Ben told me a while back.”

Something clicked in his mind. “Wait — was it right before you sent Pedro that email?” She at least had the decency to look sheepish. “Ursula! What the hell!”

“Look, I was just trying to help.”

“By setting me up with a coworker?! In what world is that helpful?”

“It’s not just that!” Ursula said. “I wanted to get the drama program started again — you know how much that matters to me. And yeah, maybe I also thought it would be a good thing if you found someone to be happy with in the process. Is it so wrong for me to want you to be happy?”

Balthazar sighed and held the bridge of his nose. Ursula had always been fond of coming up with “master plans,” these grand schemes that would solve several problems at once. She was good at pulling them off, too. But sometimes, Balthazar felt like she lost sight of the people affected by these plans. He felt like she was losing sight of that now.

When he'd been silent for several moments, she spoke up again. “I get that this is maybe not the best way to find out that he's not straight. I'm sorry I didn't tell you before. But it’s not like that email changed anything. Didn't you already tell him you don’t want to do the musical?”

He couldn't contain a dry laugh at the irony of the situation. _When did my life become a comedy of errors?_ “Urs, I just told him we should do the musical. Like, literally _just now_. Five minutes ago.”

“Oh.” Her brow creased. After taking a moment to process what Balthazar had said, she shrugged. “So do the musical, then.”

“You are being so unhelpful right now,” he hissed.

“I'm sorry! But I really don't see why this is such a big deal. So you like him. So he's bi. So you're doing the musical. Maybe something will happen, and maybe it won't, but either way it's a good opportunity to get to know him better.”

“Just like you thought when you wrote that email?”

“Yes. I still think that was a good idea.”

“Then you still don't understand. It's too much. I can't…” He groaned. Suddenly everything felt overwhelming: the noise of the party, the flurry of emotions stirred up in the last few minutes, and the alcohol which was quickly going to his head.

Ursula sighed and gave him a consoling look. “Does this change your mind about the musical? If so, you should probably tell him now.”

“I don't know…” Balthazar let his eyes drift over her shoulder, unfocused. He shook his head. “Let's just go get the drinks. I'll think about it later.”

He barely registered the nebulous cacophony around him as he followed Ursula to the bar to grab the drinks. When they returned to where the group had been, however, they found Pedro standing on his own.

“Oh! I thought Bea wanted…” Ursula began.

“Yeah, I don't know what just happened,” Pedro said, “but after you guys left, Ben said something about the bathtub, and then Beatrice grabbed him and they just left.”

“Typical,” she said. “In that case, you want an extra drink?”

“Sure, if you don’t want it.”

Without thinking, Balthazar moved to give both the drinks he held to Pedro.

“Oh, I think that other one’s yours, mate,” Pedro said, taking one from him and a second one from Ursula.

Balthazar looked down at the drink in a daze. “Oh. Yeah, okay.”

“What should we drink to?” Ursula asked.

“How about…” Pedro began, “New opportunities!”

Balthazar looked up to see Pedro beaming at him as their glasses clinked together. “Cheers,” he said weakly.

 

* * *

 

“Hey, so... hey,” Beatrice cooed as she grabbed the lapels of Ben's blazer. She'd all but dragged him out to the yard when he began muttering about the bath. Baths, even fancy antique ones like this venue had, were so uncomfortable.

“Hey yourself,” Ben said glumly.

She frowned. “You’re upset.”

“I’m not.”

“You are. Look at you! You can’t even look me in the eye.”

“Is this better?” he asked, giving her a goofy, wide-eyed look.

“I don’t know — is it?”

He sighed and dropped his eyes. “It’s just… I know I’ve made mistakes. Hell, I still make mistakes.”

“What? The sensible Benedick Hobbes, making mistakes? Never!” Pulling him out of a funk like this required a keen balance of listening and teasing, but Bea had developed a knack for it.

Sure enough, he chuckled at this. “I know you’re shocked. But I just wish we could put that all in the past.”

She nodded and tugged at his blazer again. “I’m sorry.”

He leaned his forehead against hers. “I forgive you,” he murmured.

“So…” she smiled mischieviously. “Wanna make out?”

He threw back his head and laughed. “Are you drunk, love?”

“Benedick! Why would you even suggest such a thing?” she pouted.

“I'm pretty sure you've had about five drinks in the last two hours.”

“It was only three! And I'll have you know, I can hold my liquor, unlike some people I know.” She poked him in the chest.

“Oh, so are we not counting those two shots of tequila?”

“I was proving a point! They didn't count, obviously. Hey, don't give me that look!” Ben had that condescending smile that she hated. She couldn't decide if she wanted to smack it or kiss it off his face, though she didn't really have a bad option between those two choices.

“So, are we going to make a habit of this, then? Getting, uh, friendly, if you will, when your other underlings are right through a window, just waiting to spy on you? Because I have to say, if they see you with me it might increase your standing among the staff. You may know I'm something of a favourite.”

Bea peered into the closest window, where a warm glow filtered around the crowd of bodies in the room. “Hmm. I should think about my reputation, you're right. Fine. No more kissing for the rest of the night.”

“I mean,” Ben said slowly, holding her hips before she could turn away, “I didn't say _no_ kissing. Just —” he pecked her lips lightly "— maybe not a full-on makeout sesh.”

Bea raised an eyebrow at him. “So you're saying you can resist this?” She reached up on her tiptoes and kissed the end of his nose.

“Absolutely, love.”

“And this?” She pecked him on the lips, an echo of his kiss.

“Yep.”

“And this?” She nosed into his collar and kissed his neck.

“Y-yeah.”

“Uh huh. And this?” She ran her nose along his jaw to the other side, where she reached back and sucked his earlobe into her mouth.

“Ugh... damn you, Duke.”

She smiled.


	19. Staff Party, Part II

It was the taste of tequila on Bea’s breath that reminded Ben he was supposed to be the responsible one tonight. He knew she preferred not to be this publicly demonstrative, and she’d likely give him an earful later if he allowed it to continue. Nudging her nose with his, he drew back to look her in the eye. “Do you want to take this home?” he whispered when she didn’t pull away.

“But then we’d have to wait ‘til we get home…”

He chuckled. “Are you suggesting you want more here? In the middle of the yard?”

“No,” she pouted, then peered in the window. “I guess you’re right, we should probably stop.”

“I’m sorry, what was that?” He squeezed her waist. “I’m right?”

She shoved him away playfully. “Don’t let it go to your head, Hobbes. Come on, let’s go back inside. If the governors are wasting this much money we might as well enjoy it.”

“Good plan, love,” he smiled, grabbing her hand.

They had only taken a few steps back towards the door when Bea added, “I mean, it’s not like the money could have been used for new lab equipment or Balthazar’s instruments or anything. Something that’s actually of some use.”

Ben stopped walking, keeping a hold of her hand. “Bea.” He knew she had the physical strength to drag him if forward if she wanted to be stubborn, but she didn’t. Instead, she turned to face him.

“I know. _I know_. I’m here to have a good time and talk to my friends. I’m just fucking frustrated.”

“I promise you can rant to me all you want about it when we get home.” Or the following morning, as Ben fully expected her to fall right to sleep as soon as they got back.

“I’ll hold you to that, Hobbes.”

Ben let himself be dragged back inside before dropping Bea’s hand. “I need to use the loo,” he declared, knowing he wasn’t fooling her for a second.

Sure enough, Bea rolled her eyes. “Right. Of course you do. Well, I’m going to go find Ursula again.”

Chuckling, Ben watched Beatrice stride away with as much purpose as her slightly-more-than-tipsy self would let her. She was going to have the worst hangover tomorrow, and Ben knew it.

But they would cross that bridge when they got there. In the meantime, he had a date with a bath.

* * *

Pedro was astonished. Beatrice and Ben had kissed. Like, proper kissed.

He hadn’t realised he’d wandered away until he heard Ursula’s voice over his shoulder. “Pedro? You alright?”

He glanced over his shoulder at her, then back out the window. Beatrice and Ben started walking back inside, and Pedro pulled his attention away from them and rejoined Balthazar and Ursula. He pointed over his shoulder with his empty glass. “I —” He couldn’t even find words. _What the hell had he just seen?_

Balthazar cocked his head to the side. “Are you…?”

“Ben and Beatrice…”

“What about them?” Ursula asked.

“They’re… They just… they kissed? I think? I mean I’m pretty sure —”

“Yeah, that happens when Bea drinks. She’s usually against that in public.” She raised an eyebrow at him. “You sound shocked, Pedro.”

“Maybe because I have never seen them like that, like, _ever_.” Beatrice and Ben were just bros. Sure, they bantered and joked, but beyond that…

“Ah. Yeah, I could see why,” replied Ursula. “Beatrice doesn’t want people to think she’s giving Ben special treatment. Hardly talked to him at all outside of staff meetings last year. Ben got kind of upset about it.”

“She’s, um… she’s loosened up a bit this year, though,” Balthazar said.

Pedro was definitely missing something. “How long have they been together?”

Ursula smiled. “Well, they actually got together in high school, but they’ve been married for almost six years now.”

_Married?_

Pedro downed his second drink and stared at a large painting of a lighthouse just past Balthazar’s shoulder. Ben and Bea were married. They were together. Well, that definitely explained a lot. Like why they drove together when the three of them went for drinks after Balthazar’s concert. And why Ben didn’t seem to be as terrified of her as other teachers. And why they spent so much time together. And why they were _kissing_ a few minutes ago.

They were married.

“Oh hey, Bea!” Ursula called over Pedro’s shoulder. “I didn’t realize you were coming back so soon, otherwise I’d have saved your drink.”

“Where did it go?” Beatrice’s voice startled Pedro as she sidled up next to him.

“Pedro took it.”

“Rude,” she muttered with a smirk.

His brain was still attempting to assess the new information he’d just learned about his headteacher, and her presence beside him wasn’t helping matters. Nor was the drink in question.

“Where’s Ben?” Pedro asked, voice cracking a little. He could not believe Ben had failed to mention this to him.

“Where is he always at these things? Can’t get him away from that damn bath. I was so close, too.”

Pedro immediately excused himself and headed in the direction of the bathroom. It took a few tries for him to get the right door, but when he found it, Ben was indeed sitting in the antique bath Balthazar had shown him earlier.

Ben smiled up at him. “Oh, hey Pedro! Fancy seeing you here.”

“You and Beatrice are married.”

Ben gasped in feigned astonishment. “ _We are?_ No wonder I keep finding her in my bed every night. It all makes sense now!” Before Pedro could even begin to formulate a response, Ben continued. “So, have you come to partake of my marital wisdom? Looking for some friendly advice about love? Relationships? Because let me tell you, communication is key, my friend. The other person can’t read your mind, so you have to tell them what —”

“Ben! I don’t need relationship advice. Why didn’t you tell me you were married?”

Ben’s eyebrows moved further up his head. “Wait, wait, wait. Are you saying you didn’t know?”

“Well, you’re not obvious about it and no one told me, so no! I didn’t!”

Ben stared at him for a few seconds before bursting out laughing, which Pedro didn’t particularly appreciate.

“Ben, this is not funny! I’ve been here for a half a school year.”

“Which is exactly why it _is_ funny,” replied Ben, trying to catch his breath. “How did you not know that? I can’t believe no one told you!”

Pedro raked his hands through his hair. “Bro, the only people who might have told me about that are you and Balthazar, and Balthazar isn’t really a gossip, is he?”

“No, he’s not.” Ben sighed dramatically and and lay back in the bath to look at the ceiling. “Balthazar’s just too kindhearted to do such a thing. He’s an exceptional person, our Balthy. How was the tour he gave you earlier?”

Right. The tour. Balthazar’s musical. That conversation had come entirely out of left field — Pedro hadn’t thought about it in weeks, not since he’d convinced himself that Balthazar was no longer upset about it. Between that and this whole marriage thing, Pedro felt like he had whiplash.

“I mean it was good,” Pedro replied after a second, leaning back against the door. “It’s a nice place.” If Balthazar hadn’t asked him not to tell Ben about the musical, he would have gone into more detail. Though now it seemed like Ben could keep a secret, given that he never told him how he was fucking married to Beatrice Duke. “But seriously, how did you never tell me?”

“About what?”

“You and Beatrice. How could I have guessed that? You don’t even have a wedding ring!”

Ben grinned wildly. “Oh ho! Who’s flirting with whom _now?_ ”

Pedro pulled his hair down over his face then smoothed it out again. “Ben. Shut up. Why don’t you two have rings?”

“Well,” Ben explained, dropping the grin, “It was kind of a thing, for Bea. The first time I proposed, I pulled out a ring, and she was like, ‘hell no, Hobbes, I don’t belong to you. Lose the ring and then we’ll talk.’ I think it was just the engagement ring that she had a problem with? But it was kind of a joke with us after that, so we never got rings at all. We’re used to it now… I could see why that would potentially be confusing, though.”

“No shit.”

“Well, now you know!” Ben said happily. “Confusion over, right?”

Pedro stared at Ben for a few seconds before turning abruptly and pulling the door open. “Nope. I need one of those tequila shots.”

* * *

“Drink responsibly!” Ben shouted as the door closed behind Pedro.

Ben shook his head and laughed — he couldn’t believe Pedro didn't know that he and Bea were married. He just assumed that was common knowledge. But although Pedro had looked stunned by this news, it wasn’t as though it made much of a difference to Ben how long it took Pedro to figure it out.

Unfortunately, Pedro’s obliviousness had been wreaking havoc on Ben’s attempts to set him up with Balthazar. For all that Balthazar rolled his eyes and denied his interest, Ben could tell that he at least recognized the situation for what it was — namely, he was an eligible adult interested in touching the butt of another eligible adult but was too afraid to make a move. Ben was more than happy to step in and provide a push in that direction.

Pedro, on the other hand, still seemed blissfully unaware that Ben was trying to set him up at all, let alone that Balthazar was interested in him. Despite the fact that he raved incessantly about Balthazar, and Ben missed no opportunity to throw the two of them together, Pedro’s genial, equally-friendly-to-everyone attitude never cracked. No amount of eyebrow-waggling on Ben’s part seemed to catch Pedro’s attention.

This was why Ben needed Ursula. Giving people things they didn’t realize they wanted was her area of expertise. It was an invaluable skill in her career, but he had seen her work her magic in relationships as well. And the big reason why Ben still wondered if Pedro truly only had platonic feelings for Balthazar was that he had yet to see any evidence of Ursula’s plan. He made a mental note to ask her about it before she returned to Wellington, because it really was high time for Pedro and Balthazar to get their acts together.

Suddenly, the music in the next room cut out, pulling Ben abruptly from his thoughts. A few cheers and hollers punctuated the quiet, then someone began strumming on a guitar. Ben smiled and sat up. He loved hearing Balthazar play, and didn’t want to risk missing it.

After struggling for a minute to get out of the bath, Ben emerged to find Bea standing with Ursula and Pedro near the bar.

“— so then they waited until I was with the AD,” Ursula said, “And out of nowhere, ‘Run the World’ started playing over the PA, and all the extras were lining up, but I still wasn’t paying attention!” She and Bea cracked up, falling into each other in laughter.

Ben chuckled at them, but tuned out Ursula’s story to listen to Balthazar, who was playing and singing from a stool next to the adjacent wall. The lyrics sounded like an old poem Balthazar had turned into a song; he’d done that before a few times.

_When all aloud the wind doth blow_  
_And coughing drowns the parson's saw_  
_And birds sit brooding in the snow  
_ _And Marian's nose looks red and raw,_

Ben smiled a little as he began to recognize the words. He was pretty sure the poem was called ‘Winter,’ which seemed fitting for the season.

To his left, Ben noticed Pedro wasn’t paying attention to Ursula’s story either. His eyes were fixed on Balthazar, as if the rest of the room was completely empty. He was so entranced, he couldn’t have been more obvious if he’d chosen to wear an ‘I heart Balthazar Jones’ shirt.

Ben grinned to himself, unable to believe that he’d had even a moment of doubt about Pedro’s feelings for Balthazar. Whether Ursula’s plan was in motion yet or not, Pedro was poised to fall hard, and Ben couldn’t imagine it would take more than a nudge to get him there.

The song soon came to a close, and as people began to clap, Ben noticed Bea and Ursula joining in. He met Ursula’s gaze and nodded his head sideways towards Pedro and Balthazar.

She smiled. “Patience.”

“What?” asked Pedro, turning back to the group.

“Oh, nothing.”


	20. Keeping Up with the Donaldsons

John usually didn’t mind seeing his parents. Bill and Ann Donaldson were nice people who lived in a nice house and liked to do nice things like have dinner with their family. And John actually did enjoy having the odd dinner with them, but he’d been avoiding it since Pedro had moved back to Auckland. He knew the moment he agreed to dinner, Ann would call up Pedro and invite him along as well, which was the last thing John wanted. So of course he had been making his excuses, mostly work-related with a few nondescript personal ones mixed in.

However, six months was apparently Ann’s tipping point, and John was fairly certain she had caught on to what he was doing. Instead of coordinating the dinner herself, as she usually did, Ann not-so-sneakily made a point to ask John when he had time.

As a result, John was now sitting on his parents’ back porch, rather than at his own comfortable desk, going over his blocking notes for _West Side Story_ , while his dad and Pedro talked animatedly and predictably about football.

He did his best to tune them out, instead thinking about the Act I finale. John knew he had to get the students to understand the importance of building that crescendo from the very first scene. The climax of the first half had to foreshadow the conclusion and leave the audience on the edge of their seats.

The door to John’s left opened to reveal a smiling Ann, who wore her red and white polka-dot apron. “There you are! Come help me with the potatoes.”

John held her gaze for several moments then sighed. “I’ll be in in a minute. And I’m not wearing an apron.”

“Kitchen rules,” she sang, leaving him on the porch and closing the door behind her. John smirked.

 

* * *

  

“All I’m saying is if they put a little bit more effort into their defence —”

“Dad, you always say that!” Pedro laughed; he knew he and his father would never see eye to eye on the All White’s strategies, but the debate over it had become something of a ritual for them. “We just got that new right-back who’s doing great. What’s his name again?”

“Dinnertime, boys!” Pedro’s mum shouted out to the porch from inside. “And enough football talk. This is the first time we’ve all been together in a long time.”

“Ann,” said Pedro’s dad, as they came back inside, “It is very important for a father to discuss football with his sons.” He patted Pedro on the back and took a seat at the table.

Pedro grinned and sat down next to him. “Yeah, Mum! It’s an important topic.”

She rolled her eyes and set a serving dish down on the table. “Tell you what. If John wants to talk about football we can talk about football.”

Pedro’s eyes shifted over to John, who had just entered the room from the kitchen wearing a black apron and carrying a large bowl of mashed potatoes. “Football is pointless. It’s all pageantry and trumped-up turf wars designed to distract old men from their loss of youth and virility. Pathetic excuse for a pastime, if you ask me. 

“Oh, don’t pretend to be above it, John,” Pedro reasoned. “You played when you were in England.”

“And I hated it.”

Before Pedro could reply, his mum sat down across from him. “Alright. That’s enough of that. Let’s not start an argument already,” she scolded. “John, come take a seat.” 

John mumbled something under his breath, pulled off his apron, and sat down at the table. Pedro smiled to himself. He had almost forgotten how easy it was to get John riled up by certain topics. Football, Marlowe, and the proper method of brewing a cup of tea were all off the table if they wanted a peaceful meal. 

“So if we can’t talk about football, why don’t you catch me up on what’s been going on around here?” Pedro asked.

His dad smirked. “If you’d call once in a while, maybe you’d already be in the know.”

Pedro laughed. “I know, Dad, I’m sorry.  It’s not that I don’t want to call, I just get busy and forget.”

“It’s okay, Pedro,” his mum said. “We’re just glad you’re here now. Both of you,” she added, looking at John. “But let’s see, what’s new…?”

“Oh, do you remember Tori, the Patel’s granddaughter?” his dad asked.

“Hmm…” Pedro thought back to his high school days, and a face clicked — a little girl who used to come play in their yard in the summers. “Oh yeah! She’s doing okay?”

“Yeah, she’s off to university — got accepted at Edinburgh.”

“Abroad! Wow, that’s great! God, that makes me feel old, though,” Pedro chuckled.

“Oh hush, you’re still too young to feel old,” his mum said. “But speaking of kids getting older, do you remember Pete?”

“Of course!” Pete had been a couple years older than Tori, and lived a few houses down. Pedro babysat him a couple of times, and jokingly called themselves Pete and Pete, after which Pete practically hero-worshipped Pedro. “He went down to Welly for uni like I did, right?”

His mum nodded. “He’s living down there now, and his mum just told me the other day that he’s getting married!”

“That’s great! Anyone I know?”

“I don’t think so. They met at uni. She studied IT management, a bit like Olivia did. Smart girl.”

Pedro winced at the mention of Olivia, but managed a smile. “She sounds great.”

“Speaking of which, have you heard from Olivia at all?”

Pedro sighed. He should have known his mum would ask about Olivia. “No, Mum. We broke up, remember?”

“I thought the two of you were staying friends. She was such a nice girl, and you were together for so long.”

He ran a hand through his hair. “Mum, I don’t want to talk about Olivia, okay?”

“Okay, of course, darling. I know how it is. We were just wondering.”

“So, is there anyone else on the horizon?” Pedro’s dad smoothly took over the personal enquiries.

“Do you really want grandchildren that badly?” Pedro sniped. He wasn’t sure why this was getting under his skin so much.

“No, no,” Bill chuckled. “We just want to make sure you’re happy.”

“Happiness can be achieved without romance,” John contributed, to Pedro’s surprise.

This turned Ann’s attention his way. “What about you, John? Have you been seeing anyone?”

John didn’t look up from his plate. “No. I’ve been too busy with work.”

“Yeah, all John does these days is work,” Pedro commented, not without some dissatisfaction. One of the reasons Pedro had been looking forward to moving to Auckland in the first place was the opportunity to see his brother more. He had no idea whether _West Side Story_ alone kept John so busy or whether he had other things going on, but it seemed John was never free to hang out. “Though I’m sure it wouldn’t be hard for you to find someone if you wanted to, bro. Balthazar does open mics at the Brick Cellar, you know, where Timber’s used to be. There are a load of arty girls who go to those. I could be your wingman!”

“I do not need a wingman.”

Pedro was taken aback by the glare John shot across the table.

He held up a hand in surrender. “Alright, sorry. Didn’t mean to offend you.”

“You didn’t.”

Pedro raised his eyebrows and then, unable to decide upon a response, instead turned his attention back to his food. John really did have a knack for killing a conversation, he mused in the silence that followed.

Predictably, it was Bill who restarted the conversation. Pedro knew his dad reviled any level of tension and would be willing to go to unusual lengths to fill an awkward conversational pause. That evening he opted for a simple change of subject. “So, how is _West Side Story_ going, John?”

John’s eyes shifted away from Pedro to their dad. “Very well. We have some talented leads and a strong backing chorus. It has a lot of potential to be one of the best productions we’ve done.”

“I can’t wait to see it! I’m sure it will be wonderful as always,” said Ann.

Pedro smiled. “I’ll actually be able to see it this year!”John gave a small smile at that. It was the only smile he’d gotten from John all day, and Pedro was proud of himself for bringing it out of him.

“I still think it’s so cool that you were able to turn your love of theatre into a career,” Pedro continued. “I’ve always been in awe of your theatrical talent. Actually, I was hoping you could answer some questions I had about putting together a musical,” Pedro said.

John’s eyes immediately narrowed. “Why?”

“Balthazar and I want to put on a musical at Messina.”

“You can’t be serious.”

“I know it’s not going to be anywhere near your level, but Balthazar wrote a musical and we want to produce it.”

“Jones wrote a musical.” Pedro hated when John got like this. He couldn’t read his face for the life of him.

"Who is this Balthazar you keep on mentioning?” Ann chipped in.

“Just a friend. A colleague. A colleague who is also a friend.” Pedro felt thrown off the mark completely. He took a breath to regroup. “Balthazar is a music teacher at our school and he wrote this play with his ex. It’s based on _As You Like It_ and it explores things like gender and sexuality and it’s really amazing.”

His parents looked appropriately impressed, but John had a sneer on his face. “And what? You think you can just put together a full musical last-minute?”

Pedro had not expected this negativity or the edge to John’s voice. He knew he shouldn’t be riled by it, but he couldn’t help feeling defensive of his and Balthazar’s project. “Look, Ursula Kuang’s gone, yeah? And she ran the drama department. I took her position. I should at least try to do something. The students really seem to like drama. Why not?”

“You think that will be easy?”

“I mean, I’m sure some of it will be difficult. That’s why I wanted to ask for your help.”

“No,” John said shortly.

“What?”

John stood up from the table. “No. I won’t help you.”

“John!” Pedro’s mum exclaimed.

“Dinner was lovely, Ann. I’m going to go for a walk.”

Pedro stared after John’s retreating form with his jaw wide open. _Where the hell had that come from?_

“He’s under a lot of stress,” he heard his mum say. “I’m sure you just took him by surprise, Pedro.”

Snapping out of it, Pedro got up and followed John. He wasn’t about to let his brother leave without some sort of explanation. He caught up just as John was opening the front door of the house. “John, wait,” he said, pushing the door shut before John could leave.

“You have no idea what the hell you’re getting into,” John snapped.

Pedro’s eyes widened at the sudden emotion. “What do you mean?”

“Musicals can’t simply be put together on a whim.” John took a step towards Pedro. He suddenly seemed taller, imposing. “It takes planning and dedication and time. Musicals require casting and blocking and music and lighting and costumes and choreography. The smallest mistakes can cause the entire production to fall to pieces and you think you’ll be able to pull it off?”

“Well, you do it every year. How hard could it be?”

Before Pedro could blink, John had opened the door and slammed it behind him.

 

* * *

 

John stalked down the side of the street, bristling. He couldn’t believe it. _Pedro_ was doing a _musical_. And he had the audacity to ask John for help. That was never going to happen.

His phone buzzed in his pocket. _I swear, if that’s you, Pedro…_

It was Cora. He answered it. “This had better be important.”

“Wow, what’s got you all worked up?” she replied, seemingly unbothered.

“Pedro and Jones are putting on a musical at Messina,” he snarled.

“So?”

“What do you mean, _‘so?’_ ”

“Who gives a fuck? Messina’s done plays before. It’s not like you’ve got a monopoly on it.”

“I know that.”

“Then I don’t understand why you’re freaking out about this.”

“Pedro has no idea what he’s doing. He doesn’t know how to direct. He doesn’t know how much work this takes. A good production takes time and energy and —”

“Blood, sweat and tears?”

“Exactly!” He scuffed his toe in the gravel, kicking a pebble into the grass. “He doesn’t get that.”

“I’m sorry. I’m still confused. Why does that matter? I thought you hated him or something.”

“I do.”

“Then why do you care? So his musical crashes and burns. Thought you’d love to see that.”

“I would. But that’s not what’s going to happen.”

“You lost me.”

How could John begin to explain the phenomenon that was Pedro Donaldson? John himself didn’t even understand. Pedro was naturally good at every single thing he did. It didn’t matter how little experience he had or how little effort he put into something, it always turned out in his favor. How else could he have won that science fair Year 13? Or beaten John out for the role of Albert in _Bye Bye Birdie_ in Year 12 with no acting experience? Or graduated top of his class? John worked his ass off and he never managed to get the marks Pedro did.

Everything Pedro touched turned to gold.

The problem with Pedro’s musical wasn’t that it was going to fail, it was that it wasn’t going to fail. Because it was _Pedro_.

“He’s not going to crash and burn, Cora. Somehow he’s going to pull everything off last minute.”

There was a pause. “So?”

John wished Cora was standing in front of him so she could see the glare he was sending her. “It’s going to succeed. When he has absolutely no idea what he’s doing.”

“Oh, I get it,” Cora chuckled infuriatingly. “This is a sibling rivalry thing!”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

“But it is! You’re afraid his musical is going to do better than yours!”

“It has nothing to do with sibling rivalry! He doesn’t respect the craft!”

“Look, Donaldson. _John_. You’re going to have to get the fuck over it. You have your own things to worry about. Like how the print shop printed all of the music with the backside flipped upside down. Which is why I called in the first place.”

John groaned and ran a hand through his hair as Cora continued.

“I forgot my iPad in my office and thought I’d check your box to see if the order came through. Figured you’d want to know now instead of the day classes started again.”

“Fine. I’ll deal with it.” He clicked off the call without saying goodbye. Of course the music was fucked up. This year had just been one disaster after another, and Pedro’s cockamamie ambitions were just the latest on that list. But misprinted music was something he could focus on, a problem with a solution. And if nothing else, it could spare him from the rest of the Donaldson Family Dinner.


End file.
